


In A Hundred Lifetimes

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: M/M, so many au's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2019-06-16 22:17:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 74
Words: 184,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15447057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: A Julian-and-Logan-are-soulmates-in-every-universe series





	1. Prologue

They’re both angry.

Both frustrated.

Logan can’t seem to make Julian see reason, and Julian doesn’t know how to explain his feelings. It’s been weeks — _months_ — of this awkward back and forth, this uncomfortable tension that arose between them the moment Julian came back to Dalton.

“I just don’t understand _,”_ Logan says, for perhaps the fifth time in this single encounter, “Explain it to me. How you can be in love with me, but you won’t even _try_ …”

“Try _what_?” Julian spits out, hot tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, “What, exactly, do you think you’re offering here?”

“The chance to see what this could be! What _we_ could be! Look, Julian, I told you I don’t fully understand what I feel yet. But I know I feel _something_.”

“Because you’re making yourself feel something.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true!” Julian rises from his perch on the windowsill, paces across the room and crosses his arms over his chest, “You didn’t feel a goddamn thing for me — you barely _tolerated_ me — and now you’re suddenly feeling things? That’s not how that works.”

“Don’t twist this around like that, you _know_ that’s not what’s going on. You’re my best friend, Jules, the hell do you mean I didn’t tolerate you?”

“What was it you said, once?” Julian tilts his head, a mocking expression across his features, “That I’m only interesting until I start talking?That’s not exactly a shining declaration of affection there, Lo.”

“I didn’t…you’re twisting my words.”

“You never wanted me. You never even had the faintest _inkling_ of anything like that towards me.”

“I thought you were _straight_!” Logan bellows. He’s furious now, red-faced and panting, so unbelievably upset with Julian for his inability to understand what Logan’s trying to say, “I didn’t think you were an option, Jules. You never gave me any reason to believe — if you’d just _said_ something…”

“Why would I say anything? Why would I put us both through that? You don’t feel the same way about me as I do about you, and that’s never going to change.”

"You don’t know that. _I_ don’t know that.”

Julian laughs, bitterly, raises his eyes to look up at Logan, “Please, Lo. In what universe would _you_ ever want _me_?”


	2. Extras in a Movie

This isn’t what Logan had expected.

When Michelle had proposed this idea, he assumed it’d be for an hour or so. They’d show up, linger in the background somewhere, then go home.

Instead, he’d been woke up before dawn, dragged across town and hurried into a small trailer. Two women had attacked him with face powder — _for the shine!_ — and hairspray, and he’d been promptly ushered out and directed through a variety of different setting. He’d thought he’d be with Michelle, for most of it. Instead, the director had taken one look at the former model and dragged her to a more prominent spot as a waitress, even given her a speaking line.

Mid-way through the afternoon, a very tired Logan gets shoved at a small table in a fake coffee shop. He’s grateful that the cup in front of him seems to contain _actual coffee_. His appreciation only grows when someone else is shoved into the seat across from him, and he looks up to see a _very_ attractive brunette roughly his age.

“Just look natural,” a frazzled-looking woman snaps at them, “Drink, every so often. Chat. Pretend to chat. I don’t really care, as long as it looks real.”

She scurries off, and the other man grins.

“Hey,” he says, in a voice just as beautiful as his face, “Julian.”

“Logan.”

“You don’t really look like you want to be here, Logan.”

Logan huffs out a laugh, “That obvious?”

“People fight for these kinds of jobs, you know.”

“What, to _pretend_ to be having a conversation?”

“We _are_ having a conversation,” Julian points out, “And yes, people do. I waited in line for seven hours to get picked for this.”

“Seven—are you serious? _Seven hours_?”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Logan admits, suddenly feeling a little guilty, “I…my stepmom — she’s playing the waitress, right now, over there —knew one of the production assistants back when she modeled. She kind of talked me into this. But we didn’t need to audition, or wait in line or anything.”

“Lucky you.”

There’s a beat of tense silence, and Logan nearly jumps out of his seat when he hears the bellowing _action!_ Julian snickers a little.

“Guess I should’ve been able to tell you’re not used to this kind of thing.”

“Oh, and you are?” Logan glares, resting his elbows on the table in front of him.

“Actually, yes,” Julian says. He pauses a moment, casually sips from the cup of coffee in front of him and sets it back down, “I’m a junior at NYU. Performing Arts major. I do this kind of thing every single weekend.”

“…you wait in seven hour lines to get a _chance_ at being in the background of a shot every single weekend?”

Julian shrugs, “Gotta build up my portfolio somehow, right? Besides, it’s not always this kind of thing.”

“No?”

“I’ve been in some community theater productions. Off-Broadway, once. A few student films. Whatever I can get my hands on, really.”

“…are you any good?”

Julian looks almost offended, “Of course I am. I wouldn’t be trying so hard if I wasn’t at least decent.”

“It seems like a hard industry to break into, that’s all. Not really sure how you do that when all you can get is non-speaking roles as _coffee shop customer_.”

Now he _knows_ he’s offended Julian. The man’s hand tightens around his coffee cup, wrinkling the paper.

“I guess I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand. When it’s such a _chore_ for your _ex-model_ stepmother to drag you out for one of these things. You know your part could have gone to someone who actually wanted it? Four of my friends didn’t get picked for this.”

Logan’s not sure what to say.

He knows he’s been a little bit of a dick, but this guy seems to be taking his comments way more personally than Logan expected.

The assistants seem to notice the awkwardness at their table. When the director stops the scene to fix the lighting, the same frazzled woman from before rushes over, refilling their cups.

“ _Talk_ ,” she says emphatically, “Pretend to talk. I don’t give a damn. But you can’t just stare at each other!”

They re-start the scene, and Logan clears his throat.

“So, um,” he flounders for a moment, trying to come up with something to talk about, “Why do you want to be an actor, then?”

“Why do _you_ want to be a pretentious asshat?”

“I’m trying to make conversation.”

“She said we could pretend. I could just sit here and insult you, and as long as you don’t cry it’ll still look totally fine on camera.”

“Well I’m _not_ an actor, so there’s a very real possibility I’ll just look pissed off if you insult me.”

Julian rolls his eyes, “Fine. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one. You?”

“Same.”

“Favorite color?”

Julian raises an eyebrow, “Favorite color? Seriously?”

“It’s a safe question.”

“…green, then. You?”

“I don’t actually have one.”

“What kind of person doesn’t have a favorite color?”

“I don’t know. Guess it depends on my mood, really.”

“Well what is it today?”

“Yellow, maybe?”

“Yellow. Sure. Favorite band?”

Logan makes a face, “I can’t just pick _one_.”

“Oh come on, that’s a common question! You’re really gonna tell me you don’t have a default answer for that?”

“Well what’s yours?”

“Haven,” Julian says, with a grin, “I doubt you’ve heard them, they’re all students. The guitarist and I went on a few dates a year or two ago, but it didn’t really turn into anything. But his band is great.”

 _His_.

Logan picks up his coffee cup and tries to make his next sip appear casual.

“His?”

“Yes. His.”

“So you’re gay, then?”

Julian’s smile tightens just slightly. The cameras likely won’t pick up on it, but Logan does, “Bi, actually. Is that a problem, because I can go back to insults.”

“No,” Logan says quickly, “I am, too. Not bi, I mean. Gay.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So,” Julian says, voice light, “Do you have a…guitarist of your own?”

Logan feels his mouth quirk, “No. No guitarist. There was a singer, a few months ago, but that’s over.”

“Hm.”

“Are you exclusively into guitarists, then?”

“No,” Julian says with a slight smirk, “I do have a thing for musicians, though.”

“Like pianists?”

Logan sees Julian’s eyes flick down to his hands, like he’s imagining Logan’s fingers over a keyboard, “I think that counts as a musician, yeah. Are you exclusively into singers?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a plus, though.”

“Well I wouldn’t say I’m a professional, or anything, but I’d like to think I’m pretty good.”

“Prove it.”

Julian’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he glances around, “What, now?”

“Why not?”

“They’re filming a _love scene_ over there, I can’t just burst into song.”

“They don’t have a mic on us,” Logan says, “If you’re quiet enough they won’t hear.”

Julian looks mildly embarrassed, and Logan doesn’t actually expect him to sing. But then he leans forward, brings one hand up to block his mouth from view of the cameras, and starts singing softly, something Logan doesn’t recognize.

It’s quiet, barely more than a whisper, but Logan still finds himself smiling. Julian breaks off after a verse, shaking his head a little.

“It’s a Haven song,” he explains, “It sounds a lot better when they do it.”

“No, it was good,” Logan insists, grinning, “Really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Cut!_ ”

They both jolt this time. Logan’s knee catches the corner of the table, and Julian just barely manages to catch the coffee cups before they spill.

“You two!” The director stalks over, one finger pointed Logan and Julian’s way, “Out of my scene, now. There’s only supposed to be _one_ couple falling in love in this scene, and it’s not the two of you!”

“We were just _talking!”_ Logan argues, “That’s what they told us to do!”

“I don’t care what you think you were doing, you’re ruining my scene. Out.”

The director pushes at Logan’s shoulder, shoving him out of the chair. He turns to Julian next, and freezes. His angry expression shifts a little, and his eyes rake over Julian’s face.

“You, kid,” he points again, “You want a speaking role? The bar scene’s next, and our bartender showed up with the most horrendous dye job I’ve ever seen.”

Julian’s eyes widen, “Me? You want me to play the bartender?”

“Can you deliver a line without fucking it up?”

“Yes. Absolutely, of course I can.”

“Good. Get in makeup then. Now.”

He stalks off, screaming at the assistants to re-set the scene, and Julian turns to Logan with a wide smile, “Did you hear that? A speaking role!”

“Good for you. I guess I’ll just…wait for my stepmom. But congrats, really.”

He gives Julian a polite smile and turns to leave set.

“Wait!” Julian rushes forward, grabbing at Logan’s arm, “Quick, give me your phone.”

Logan doesn’t hesitate. He slips his phone from his pocket, unlocks it quickly and drops it into Julian’s hand. The brunette types his number in, saving it as _JL_.

“I sang for you,” he says, when he hands it back, “It’s only fair you show me your piano skills, next.”

Logan grins, “Alright. Deal.”


	3. San Junipero

It doesn’t have to be permanent, they tell him.

It’s an experiment.

It’s his kids that talk him into it — Little Logan (though not so little now, married with three children of his own) insisting that the system has rave reviews. Logan’s a little hesitant, initially; he fully intends on dying like a normal person, of joining his late husband in the afterlife or just disappearing entirely, depending on what belief system winds up being correct.

But then he loses most of his hearing.

It’s been on the decline for decades now, but the day he can no longer hear the bright ring of his piano keys at all is the day he decides to give San Junipero a try.

He eyes the doctor with curiosity as they hook him up. There’s no way this can be as fantastic as all the advertisements promise, he just knows it.

But then it _is_.

He’s young again, when he opens his eyes. Roughly twenty-five or so, if his reflection in a bar window is any indication. And he can _hear_.

It’s glorious.

For a while, he just walks down the street, enjoying the chatter of young people around him, the sound of cars zooming down the road.

But then the music draws him in, and he finds himself wading through a crowded dance club, moving closer and closer to the stage. There’s a band playing, and Logan watches in fascination, staring at the guitarist, the keyboardist, the drummer.

“Good, aren’t they?”

Logan turns, and comes face-to-face with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

He loves his husband, of course. He’d had been perfect, attractive and intelligent and just the right amount of serious without losing his sense of humor. He _misses_ him, wishes every day that he was still alive and healthy, that they could be young and whole again.

Still, this stranger sends a jolt of excitement up Logan’s spine.

He’s almost ethereally beautiful — dark brown hair curling around his face, deep brown eyes twinkling up at Logan, and a smile that’s absolute to die for.

“The band,” the man continues, “ _Haven_? They’re pretty good, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Logan has to yell to be heard over the music, “I’m uh…deaf, up there, y’know?”

The man looks almost pitying, for a moment, “First time, then?”

Logan nods, “Yeah. Trying it out, I guess? Doctors say I’m getting to that point.”

“Well San Junipero’s amazing,” the man says with a wide grin, “Always young, always pretty. Always fun.”

He’s flirting, Logan’s pretty sure. It’s been _ages_ since anyone’s flirted with him, and Logan’s a little unsure of how to react. He’s not sure if he _should_ react, really — he may be a widow, but he hasn’t really made any effort to meet anyone. But this is just a temporary experiment, after all, and the man is so, _so_ pretty…

“I’m Logan,” he says, after a brief internal struggle.

“Julian.”

“…you wanna show me around? I’m on the free trial. Gotta get the most out of my time.”

Julian’s grin brightens, “Absolutely.”

Despite his initial hesitation, Logan’s a little sad when midnight hits. He wakes up with a start, still in his bed in the nursing home, one of his sons hovering over him while the nurse pulls a tube from his arm.

“So?” He asks, “How was it, dad?”

Logan can almost imagine his child’s voice, as he watches his lips move. Almost remembers what it sounds like, “Amazing. I can go again, right?”

His son turns to the nurse, listens to something she says and turns back. He forms his words carefully, knows exactly how much to enunciate to let Logan read his lips, “Two more sessions for free,” he says.

Logan schedules them on the spot.

He finds himself searching Julian out, the second time.

He isn’t at the club they’d met at, but Logan does find him at the beachside cliff he’d led Logan to that first night.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, when Logan lowers himself onto the sand beside him, “You again.”

“I’m not breaking any kind of unspoken rule, am I?” Logan asks, not really caring if he is, “Tracking you down again?”

“I’m not sure there are any rules here,” Julian says, “But I don’t mind. I like you.”

They spend a second night together. Julian shows him his favorite restaurants in San Junipero — one of the best perks of this place, he explains, is that you can eat and eat and eat without feeling ill. They try sushi at an authentic Japanese restaurant, gyros at a small cafe manned by a friendly old man. Logan’s delighted to find that his allergies haven’t transferred over, and Julian grins at Logan’s actual tears when he tries lobster for the first time.

The second try goes by even faster than the first.

He’s a little hesitant, for try number three. He knows it’s the last one, unless he chooses to make this transition permanent. He hadn’t intended it, at first. He’d been fully prepared to embrace whatever afterlife actually exists, had no intentions of making his move to San Junipero permanent.

But the city makes him feel alive _._

 _Julian_ makes him feel alive.

He’s waiting for Logan, when he shows up for his final try.

“So?” He says, when Logan walks up to him, “You make a decision yet?”

“…no,” Logan admits, “Not yet. It’s a lot, you know?”

There’s a flash of disappointment that crosses Julian’s face before it’s replaced by a bright smile, “Well, guess we should make tonight memorable then, shouldn’t we?”

He takes Logan to a jazz club.

It’s not Julian’s scene, he’s pretty sure, but Logan loves it. There’s an amazing pianist, a series of singers that just get better and better. Then _Julian’s_ taking the stage, shooting Logan his signature smirk before he takes the mic himself.

Maybe it’s because Logan hasn’t been able to hear music lately.

Maybe it’s because he’s been so _lonely_ these past few years.

Maybe it’s just because of Julian.

Either way, when he hears Julian’s voice, that sultry tenor echoing through the room, Logan’s a goner. He can’t take his eyes off Julian, watching him even when he breaks off for a trumpet solo.

Julian barely steps off stage before Logan’s reaching for him, pulling him close and into a deep and passionate kiss. He tastes like coffee, somehow, and Logan can’t get enough of it.

Thankfully, Julian seems to enjoy it just as much.

“…I have a house,” he breathes, when they finally part, “Twenty minutes outside of the city. We still have a few hours, if you want to…”

“Yes. I want to.”

It’s all a little bit of a haze, when they fall into bed together. Julian’s even more beautiful with his clothes off, and Logan tries to remember what sex was like at twenty-five. He seems to do a good enough job, if Julian’s reactions are anything to go by.

After, he pulls Julian into his arms, strokes at his skin and stares at the beautiful man in his arms.

“Did I convince you to stay?” Julian asks, softly.

Logan’s struck with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Julian’s far past his free trial, he knows — he’s mentioned something about being nearly a permanent resident, about how ready he is to fully join San Junipero.

“…I had a husband,” Logan says, after a pause, “Before. I was married. He’s dead now, but I always thought…”

“That you’d join him? He’s not here, is he?”

“No. He died a year before this all started.”

Julian looks up, a sad smile on his face, “And you want to be with him again.”

“I just thought…I never expected to like this as much as I do.”

“Then stay,” Julian rests his chin on Logan’s chest, “You don’t know what comes after death. But you know what’s _here_. You’d be happy here, I know it.”

“Aren’t you curious, though? About what really happens?”

Julian’s quiet for some time. When he does speak, his voice is soft, “I was seventeen. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“…what do you mean?”

“There was a fire,” Julian explains, “I couldn’t get out. I’ve been in a hospital bed since I was seventeen. I can hear them talking, you know? The doctors. My parents, before they gave up on me. It’s been ten years, and I’ve been asleep in a hospital bed the whole time.”

“I didn’t know.”

“This was a miracle. San Junipero? I got to _live_ , you know? I never got any of this, in real life. I never got to graduate high school. I never got to see the world. Never got to fall in love.”

He raises his eyes to Logan’s, a tiny smile playing at his lips. Logan feels numb. He can’t believe he hadn’t asked Julian what brought him here, how he managed to try out the system for longer than the typical three trials.

“They’re taking me off life support,” Julian continues, “My mom’s been fighting it for a decade. But I guess dad finally talked her into it. I’m dying. Tomorrow.”

Logan takes a breath, tightening his arms around Julian’s waist, “You’re staying here, after?”

Julian nods, “They sent a nurse in with me yesterday. Made sure I knew what was happening. Asked me if this is what I wanted. My mom signed the consent form, so yeah. Tomorrow I’ll become a permanent San Juniperian.”

“Alone?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? I want to _live_ , Logan. I never got to.”

“Jules, I…”

But he never gets the chance to finish his sentence.

Midnight hits, and Logan wakes to the familiar sight of a nurse wrapping up tubing, of his son leaning over his bed.

It isn’t an easy choice.

But Julian makes him feel things he hasn’t felt in years.

Julian’s a sure thing, whereas the afterlife is something Logan isn’t sure he really believes in.

His son doesn’t look surprised when Logan tells him his decision.

“It’s a guaranteed paradise,” Logan Jr. says, “You can’t get sick. You can do anything you want. Be anything you want. We just want you to be happy, dad.”

He holds off for a few weeks. He wants both of his sons to be there, wants to hug his grandchildren one last time. There are tears — some sad, some happy — when Logan signs the consent forms.

San Junipero feels different, this time.

More real, if that’s possible.

The sounds are clearer, the smells stronger. Logan wakes up in a house, one set up just as he’s always dreamt, with a beautiful piano in the foyer. His hands itch to play, but he has more important things on his mind.

Julian’s at home, when he knocks. He looks confused when he opens the door, stares at Logan with wide eyes.

“Did you…did they let you extend?” He asks, “I thought that was for special cases? You said you weren’t sick.”

“I’m not,” Logan steps forward, “I’m living.”


	4. Kidnapping

A book,  _ Slaughterhouse Five,  _ with pages so dog-eared and worn that it must have been read a thousand times before.

A CD, like a slightly less outdated form of mixed tape, with songs ranging from Tchaikovsky to Regina Spektor to Nirvana.

A movie ticket stub, with four tiny stars and an exclamation point drawn on the bottom in green sharpie.

A tiny silver charm, what looks like a broken-off piece of some vintage necklace, shaped like a piano.

An antique watch, with a thick leather band and a cracked glass face, with hands that lose a minute and a half every hour.

Logan stares down at the items strewn across his desk with a mix of frustration and confusion, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the too-long strands as he struggles to make sense of it all. They had started coming two years ago, in December. Eight months, nearly to the day, since Julian vanished. Always in large manila envelopes, with no return address. He’d had them fingerprinted each time, but the only prints to show up were his own. There was nothing to go off of, nothing that left him any clue where to start looking.

Julian Larson didn’t want to be found.

  
  
  


_ He spun in circles, bare feet twirling through damp grass as he flung his arms in the air. His face was turned upwards, lips curled into a breathtaking smile as the rain hit his skin. _

_ “Dance with me, Logan!” _

_ The blond rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself as he took in the brunet’s antics. _

_ “It’s  _ freezing _ , Jules,” he said, turning the collar up on his coat and firmly staying put under the safety of the gazebo roof, “There’s no way I’m subjecting myself to pneumonia just because you want to  _ dance. _ ” _

_ He looked up at the sky and frowned, internally cursing the storm clouds that had interrupted what he intended to be a romantic picnic. _

_ “Please, Logan?” Julian stepped forward, a pretty pout falling across his features as he held out his hands, “Just one dance?” _

_ Logan sighed, resigning himself to a few hours of uncomfortable dampness, followed by several days of sneezing and sniffling. But the smile that spread across his boyfriend’s face when he stepped onto the grass and pulled him into his arms was worth it. Julian molded into his chest, head falling to Logan’s shoulder as they spun in slow, lazy circles.  _

_ “Jules?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “...I love you. _ ”   
  
  
  


“Any luck?” 

“Not a thing, Lo,” Derek says plainly, “I’ve talked to six detectives this week and they don’t have a single thing to go on. Dolce’s thinking about dropping the case entirely.”

Logan slams his hand down on the table, palm stinging as it connects with hard oak, “We have to  _ find _ him, D! He’s alive, I know he is!”

He can see Derek’s sigh from two thousand miles away, see the resigned droop in his shoulders, “Just because someone’s been sending you the contents of their junk drawer doesn’t mean it’s some code to finding Julian.”

“It’s him, Derek. I know it’s him.”

“They have  _ nothing _ to go on, Logan. Nowhere to start. Nobody’s seen him. Nobody’s heard from him. For all we know, he really is de--”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Logan says sharply, “Don’t you  _ dare _ \--”

“It’s been two years, Logan. You have to move on.”

“How can I move on when some  _ psychopath _ has my fiance?!”

“Logan--”

“No. Just...just don’t. Stop looking if that’s what you want. But I’m not giving up.”

He slams the phone down with such force that it shatters under his palm.   
  
  
  
  


_ Sunday mornings are his favorites. The days when he doesn’t have class or work or responsibilities. The days when he can sleep until noon and stay in pajamas until six, only changing into real clothes so he can take Julian to his favorite cafe three blocks away.  _

_ On this particular Sunday, he wakes up early. The clock blinks 8:13 at him, shining away in the dim room. Julian is asleep on Logan’s chest, one arm curled possessively around him, the other stretched upwards, disappearing under the pillow beneath his head. He whines in his sleep when Logan shifts, a frown spreading across his features as he nuzzles Logan’s bare skin. Logan just smiles. He wraps both arms around Julian’s waist, enveloping him in warmth and protection and love.  _

_ For hours, he just watches Julian sleep, spends his time tracing hearts and stars and swirls across the tanned expanse of skin. Tangles his fingers in dark hair, twirling the silky strands into loose curls. Presses soft kisses onto Julian’s forehead, eyelids, cheeks, nose. _

_ When Julian finally wakes up, almost three hours later, Logan just smiles fondly at him. While the brunet is rubbing the sleep from his eyes, blinking blearily and stretching, Logan whispers six words into his hair. _

_ “I can't wait to marry you.” _   
  
  
  
  


Logan hasn’t worked since Julian went missing. He has enough money to get by; his grandfather had left him a sizable inheritance, and Michelle made sure that John sent him a large check for each birthday and major holiday. He spends every penny on private investigators. 

They haven’t turned up anything. Three years, and not a second closer to finding Julian.

Sometimes Logan hates him. Hates him for  _ leaving _ so easily, hates him for not giving Logan a single clue. Five envelopes over the past few years, each filled with pointless trinkets that provided no insight into Julian’s whereabouts. When he’d gotten the book, he’d scoured its contents excitedly, hoping Julian had left some kind of note, highlighted a line that would give it away. But nothing. No matter how many times he reads it, how many times he’d flips through the pages, he can’t find a thing. The CD is much the same. Logan’s scanned the song titles first, hoping for a city name in the title, a  _ country _ that he could start with. But the songs are all innocent, devoid of anything that helped. (He’d briefly fixated on “Einstein on the Beach”, believing it  _ had _ to be a clue that Julian was living on a coast somewhere. But once he realized the extent of what a search of every beach in the world would entail, he knew Julian would never leave him something that futile.) The ticket stub nearly sends him into a rage. That Julian was doing something as normal as going to a  _ movie theater _ , and still couldn’t manage to write him a goddamned  _ letter _ ...

That, though...he had thought for sure it would give him a lead. But Julian had torn the stub deliberately, leaving only the name of the movie, the time (4:15 PM), and “#8”. Logan had taken it to the police immediately, only to find out that the paper and font were used in over thirty major theater chains worldwide, resulting in well over a million possible locations. ( _ That _ particular item had fingerprints, all so smudged that they couldn’t be matched in a database.)

He actually goes to the movie, wondering if it might provide some kind of hint.

It doesn’t.

But he does admit--albeit grudgingly--that it wholly deserves the four and a half stars Julian had given it.

  
  
  
  


_ “I think someone’s following us,” Julian says, glancing back in the rearview mirror, “That car, the black one? I saw it at the restaurant.” _

_ “Lots of cars are black, Jules.” _

_ “I’m serious! I think I’ve seen it at the house, too. Remember I said I felt like someone was watching me get the mail the other day?” _

_ “A lot of people watch you,” Logan says with faint amusement, “You do realize what you look like, right? It’s a damn good thing I snapped you up before someone better than me came along.” _

_ Julian finally turns away from the mirror, shooting Logan a fond smile. _

_ “There’s nobody better than you. _ ”

  
  
  


When the police stop returning Logan’s calls, he grows a little desperate. He gathers all the envelopes, all the trinkets and memorabilia he’s gotten from Julian--because he  _ knows _ it’s Julian--and takes all the cash he has to the best private detective he can find. He promises even more money, offers everything he has for the slightest hint to Julian’s whereabouts. 

The detective doesn’t turn up much more than the police had. He uses the postal stamps on the envelope to create a sort of map of where they’d come from. But the locations are random, with no pattern or sense of order. He promises to keep looking, and Logan tries not to show his clear disappointment.

When the sixth envelope shows up, he starts driving before he’s fully opened it.

Inside is a birthday card -- Logan had turned twenty-eight the week before -- with nothing written inside. A small blue flower, dried out and pressed, and taped to an index card. A napkin, with a small grease stain on the corner and a logo doesn’t recognize.

When he turns the napkin over in his hands, his heart stops. There, on the bottom left corner, in Julian’s familiar loopy cursive, are three words:

_ I love you _ .

  
  
  


_ It’s the worst day of Logan Wright’s life, and he doesn’t even know it. _

_ It starts out like any other. He wakes up with Julian in his arms, presses a soft kiss to the familiar brown curls before slipping out of bed to ready himself for work. Julian wakes up just before he leaves, pulls him back for a real kiss and promises to meet him for lunch. _

_ Work isn’t much different than normal, either. He takes a few phone calls. Attends a meeting or two.  _

_ Then lunch rolls around, and Julian doesn’t show. _

_ He’s not overly concerned. Not at first. Julian isn’t forgetful, per say, but he does have the tendency to get wrapped up things and lose track of time. He tries calling, but Julian’s phone goes to voicemail. _

_ So instead, Logan goes home. It’s close enough to work, and he has enough time to eat a quick lunch and still make it back for his afternoon meeting. He’s humming as he pulls into the driveway, as he walks past Julian’s car to the front door. _

_ The wide-open front door _ .

  
  


“I recognize this,” the detective says, when Logan shows him the napkin, “The logo? It’s for a chain of Italian restaurants. This could be a good lead. I’ll see what I can do and give you a call if I find anything, alright?”

He moves to collect the contents of the envelope, but Logan reaches out.

“Can I...just this?” he asks, fingers drifting over the napkin, “With his writing? Please?”

The detective takes pity on him. He pulls a pair of scissors from his desk, carefully cuts off the square with Julian’s  _ I love you _ and hands it to Logan.

“Keep your head up, alright? This is the first concrete proof we have that he’s still alive. It’s a good sign.”

Logan slips the napkin into his wallet, firmly pressed between his credit card and driver’s license. Once he’s home, he takes the photograph of his nightstand -- one taken mere weeks before Julian had vanished, of the two of them together at the beach -- and tucks Julian’s words beneath the glass, just to the side of Julian’s smiling face.

He’s going to find him again.

He  _ has _ to.   
  
  


_ “There was blood,” Logan tells the police officer. He’s shaking, his voice too loud, and they’re not  _ doing _ anything, “In the hallway. The door was open, but all his stuff is still here. His wallet, his keys, his phone.” _

_ The officer is taking notes on a small pad, while another takes dozens of photographs of their house. _

_ “He said someone was following him. He  _ told _ me and I didn’t believe it, I thought he was imagining things…” _

_ The cops are still taking notes. Still taking photographs. _

_ Logan’s just  _ standing _ there, completely useless. _

_ And Julian? _

_ He’s gone. _   
  
  
  


The detective calls three days later.

He’s sent messages to every restaurant the napkin could have come from. Showed them Julian’s picture, asked if he looked even a little bit familiar to any of the staff there. He’d gotten a few tentative responses, waitresses saying they’d served someone with his general description.

But then one restaurant, in a small town in the middle of Ohio, sends back a copy of their security feed.

“Now don’t get excited,” he warns Logan, as he cues the tape, “It could be a false identification, but he looks similar to me.”

He plays the tape, and Logan feels all the air leave his body.

It’s blurry, but it’s  _ him _ .

Julian, a little older and a little thinner, with his hair shorn shorter than he likes and a pair of thick-framed glasses across his face. But it’s his sharp cheekbones, his delicate fingers wrapped around the silverware, his lips pursed around a bite of bread.

“That’s Julian,” he breathes, “It is.”

“You’re sure?”

“A thousand percent.”

“Well then. I’ll make some calls to the Westerville Police Department.”

  
  
  


_ They question Logan for hours. _

_ He’s angry, at first -- furious that they’re looking to  _ him _ instead of looking for Julian, that they’re accusing him of murdering his beautiful fiance and staging it to look like a kidnapping. _

_ But he has an alibi, and they eventually let him go. _

_ He falls into Derek’s arms outside of the station, body wracked with sobs as he finally lets himself break. _

_ It’s three weeks before what was supposed to be their wedding day, and Logan doesn’t know if he’ll ever see Julian again. _

  
  
  


Three years since Julian vanished.

Three years of nothing to go on, of zero leads or tip-offs.

Three years of the police telling him to move on.

But then Julian sends him a  _ napkin _ .

He’s sitting in a squad car one week after the sixth package arrived in his mailbox, twitching nervously as a SWAT team circles a house down the street. There’s a police officer with him, instructing him to stay quiet, to let the professionals do their job.

Still, he wants to jump in with them. He needs to know if Julian’s in there, if he’s  _ finally _ tracked him down after all these years.

The waiting seems to stretch on forever.

Then, the radio crackles.

“ _ Building secured. Two males. One restrained. _ ”

Logan jerks up, but the officer with him shushes him, brings her own radio to her face, “The other one. Is it him?”

There’s a pause.

“ _ It’s him _ .”   
  


 

_ He dreams about Julian. _

_ Every night, without fail. _

_ Of what their life could have been, if he’d been able to keep Julian safe. _

_ Of what they had before, just days before his disappearance. _

_ Of Julian in his arms, in his bed. Julian dancing barefoot in the rain, Julian half-asleep on the sofa with a glass of wine hanging from his hand. _

_ He dreams of Julian walking down the aisle towards him. Of Julian holding a tiny bundle in a blanket, beaming. Julian’s hair turning gray and wrinkles sprouting up around his eyes. Julian as an old man, perched in a comfortable armchair by the fireplace, smiling at Logan as their grandchildren play at his feet. _

_ Each morning, after each dream, he wakes up alone. _

  
  
  


Julian’s going to need time, they tell him. He’s a little underweight, has bruises they’d like to evaluate. He’ll need therapy, of course, likely for the rest of his life.

His kidnapper -- a man named Adam Clavell, who Logan recognizes as one of their old neighbors -- had moved him from town to town over the past three years. He’d let him outside, taken him for dinner and the occasional movie, but Julian still showed signs of neglect and abuse.

But he’s  _ alive _ .

His brown eyes stare, blankly, when Logan steps into the room. It’s like he doesn’t fully recognize him, and the thought terrifies Logan.

“...Jules?” he keeps his voice soft, steps forward tentatively. He doesn’t know what Julian’s been through, can’t imagine the trauma he’s endured, “Hey, baby. You know me, right?”

Julian nods, just slightly, “Logan.”

His voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t been using it much. But it still sends a rush of affection through Logan’s chest. He smiles, steps a little closer.

“Yeah. I missed you. I got all your clues. I’m sorry it took us so long.”

Julian frowns, “Clues?”

“Your packages? The book, the music? I didn’t understand them. But the napkin yelled.”

“They weren’t clues,” Julian says, “I just needed you to know I was okay. That I missed you. Adam...he said he’d kill you, if you tried to find me. I didn’t send clues.”

“So all that stuff…”

“...I was scared you’d think I left. That I changed my mind.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed Logan’s mind. He moves closer still, testing the waters. When Julian doesn’t move away, Logan reaches out, brings one hand to Julian’s face. Julian’s eyes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch.

“There was a logo on the napkin,” Logan says, “I took it to a private investigator. I guess a waitress at the restaurant remembered you. Once we had a city the police found you pretty quick.”

“I didn’t...I just used the only paper I had. He left me alone in the car for five minutes, and I saw the mailbox, and...it was your birthday, and I wanted to send you something…”

“Hey,” Logan wraps his free arm around Julian’s waist, “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

“He took my ring,” Julian’s voice wavers. That blank expression finally leaves his face, and Logan sees tears fill his eyes, “He took it, Logan. I asked...I tried to get it back, but he…I’m  _ sorry _ .”

It’s like a dam breaking. Julian sinks into his arms, his whole body wracked with sobs. He’s clinging to Logan’s shirt, gasping for breath. Logan does his best to comfort him, pulls him close and rubs soothing circles into his back.

“I’ll buy you a new one. A better one. I promise. It’s okay, Jules. You’re  _ safe _ …”   
  
  
  


_ He dreams of Julian, still. _

_ Nightmares, mostly, of things Julian’s told him. _

_ Of Adam breaking into their house, holding a gun to Julian’s head and threatening terrible things if he doesn’t come willingly. Adam keeping Julian locked up in house after house, scaring him into submission. Adam touching him, hurting him, making Julian cry and scream and tremble with fear. _

_ But now, he doesn’t wake up alone. _

_ Instead, he wakes up to the newly familiar sound of Julian breathing. He’s usually awake already, unable to sleep himself, his phone or laptop held in his hands as he tries to catch up with everything he’s missed over the past few years. _

_ Julian always smiles, when Logan wakes up, immediately starts talking about how he wants to go to the zoo or the park or the mall. _

_ Because Julian’s back, and he’s staying. _


	5. Siren!Logan

He’s heard the rumors. The stories. Old wives’ tales that may not be as fictional as they seem. It’s always men that disappear — young ones, barely out of boyhood, who fall into the sea and never make it home.

Except one had.

The blacksmith’s son, last week. He’d run into town in a frenzy, his hair and clothing soaked with seawater, his cold skin wrinkling in the frigid air.

 _Something lives in the water_ , he’d told anyone who’d listen, _something beautiful, and terrifying_.

It sets everyone on edge. Mothers hold tightly to their sons, wives forbid their husbands from setting foot on the shore alone. But Julian’s always been the curious type, always lacked the basic self-preservation skills that should keep him far away from this sort of danger.

Besides, the whole thing sounds like a fairytale. He’s spent his whole childhood in and out of the ocean, never seen anything more than the fish the town depends on for food, the occasionally shark drifting through the outer bay. It’s ridiculous, in his opinion, to avoid the entire sea because of a few foolish stories.

He slips out under the guise of visiting the baker. His mother trusts him, and Julian does feel a little guilty about lying to her. But he’s almost overcome with the need to see this for himself. He can’t help it.

He expects to be disappointed.

The water is calm, today, soft rolling waves breaking the otherwise serene landscape. It’s a little cloudy, gray without being rainy, and the incoming storm seems to have frightened away any sea creatures that may otherwise frolic through the wave. Including the so-called _monster_ , Julian notes.

He walks out onto the rocky jetty that juts into the water, carefully picking his way across the large stones and sprawling at the edge. He lets his toes dangle in the water, lays down until he’s mostly comfortable across the rocks. The rainfall starts not long after, and Julian doesn’t budge. The water hitting is face is almost calming, and Julian actually finds himself dozing before too long.

When something prods at his shoulder, he barely notices. Until it happens again, a little firmer.

Julian opens his eyes, and comes face-to-face with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

His hair is impossible yellow, like he’s torn sunlight straight from the sky. His eyes a shade of green Julian doesn’t even have a comparison for, his skin a flawless pale peach. He’s gazing at Julian with a look of confusion, his brows furrowed together.

“Rain,” he says, and Julian feels a rush of warmth run through his body. The man’s voice is almost a song, the single word echoing through Julian’s head and making his every nerve ending vibrate. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, to realize this strange man expects a response.

“…yes,” he says, finally, “Rain. I like it. Don’t you?”

The man frowns at that, glancing up at the sky before he looks back at Julian. He looks even more confused by that, like he can’t fathom why Julian would _enjoy_ laying out under the falling drops.

“You’re out here, too,” Julian continues, “You can’t think _I’m_ strange for being out in the rain if you were.”

The strange man almost smiles at that. He moves slightly away, and Julian glances down at the water. It’s deep here, he knows, deep enough that he’s been able to safely dive off this jetty without hitting the ocean floor. It’s odd that this man doesn’t seem to be exerting any effort to stay afloat.

Then Julian sees the tail.

It’s just a flash, at first — shining green the same shade as the man’s eyes, quick enough that Julian thinks he’s imagining it. But the man sees Julian staring. He leans back into the water, lets the tail float to the surface. It’s long, perhaps twice the length of the man’s torso, with shimmering scales and a wide fin.

“Oh my god,” Julian breathes, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

It must be.

The description of _beautiful_ had been accurate. He wouldn’t exactly call this man terrifying, though.

“Why is everyone so scared of you? You didn’t actually kill the others, did you?”

The man’s face shifts at that, into something that looks almost like sorrow. He looks down, sinks into the water low enough that just his head is bobbing above the surface.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, in that same melodic voice. Julian shivers at the sound. It seems to draw him in, and he’s struck with the desire to stay near this man, to do anything to impress him.

He doesn’t notice he’s leaning forward until he pitches into the water.

He falls face-first, the shock of the sudden cold making him gasp. Water fills his lungs, and he scrambles, limbs flailing in an attempt to breach the surface. Long arms wind around his waist and tug, and for a moment Julian thinks this is it — how the others had died, being drug to their deaths by a beautiful man with fins.

Instead, though, the arms pull him up, pushing his body back onto the rocks. He coughs up water, gasps for breath as this strange man stares at him with mild concern.

“Stay,” the man says firmly. The melodic tone of his voice is lessened, slightly, though Julian still feels warm at the sound. Once he’s regained his bearing somewhat, he turns back to the strange creature.

“It’s magic, isn’t it? I’ve heard stories…they say you sing to lure sailors in and drag them underwater to feed on them.”

The man frowns again, as if Julian’s upset him.

“You don’t? I’m not some tasty snack to you?”

The man shakes his head.

“But you do sing?”

The man hesitates, but nods.

“To kill people?”

A vigorous shake of his head.

“But you do. You don’t mean it, but the others died because of you, didn’t they?”

Another long hesitation, followed by the smallest of nods.

Julian peers at him. He seems truly remorseful at the fact, won’t quite meet Julian’s eyes when he confirms the deaths, “Do you have a name?”

The man clears his throat, then speaks carefully, with almost none of the allure to his voice, “Logan.”

“Well hello, Logan. I’m Julian.”

The man smiles at him, then dips fully beneath the water. Julian’s a little offended, at first, but then Logan slips up back to the surface, holding something in one outstretched hand. Julian holds his hand out, stares down at the small silvery pearl Logan drops into his palm.

When he looks back up, he sees nothing but the calm ocean water.

A week or so later, Julian finds himself inexplicably drawn to the waves once more. He sits on the same rocks he had last time, dangles his fingers in the water and waits. But Logan doesn’t show up. Not at first, initially. As he sits, waits for something to happen, Julian begins to sing. Not intentionally; t’s more out of boredom than anything. Still, he opens his mouth, sings a tune he’s heard sailors in the village sing a thousand times before.

He’s only a few lines in when bubbles appear on the surface of the water, and a familiar blonde head pops up just feet away. Julian stops, but then Logan’s shaking his head, gesturing for Julian to continue. He does, tentatively, his voice growing in volume as he finishes the song. Logan stares as he sings, a small smile playing at his lips. He dives below the waves once more, surfaces just long enough to drop a rose-colored pearl in his lap.

Julian finds every excuse to slip away to the shore after that.

He doesn’t always see Logan.

In fact, he’s disappointed more often than not.

Still, the few times he sees Logan are worth it.

He doesn’t talk much. Julian gets it, really. There’s something about Logan’s voice, some strange power to it that makes Julian want to do crazy things like fall headfirst into the water. It’s a magic he can’t begin to understand, one Logan can’t explain.

Each time, Logan drops a pearl into Julian’s hand before vanishing.

Julian keeps them all, tucked away in a leather pouch around his neck. They’re the nicest things he owns. The most expensive.

So when his mother gets sick, the pearls are all he has to work with.

He trades them all — the silvery ones for medicine, the pink for food, the golden ones for a new blanket to help keep her warm.

It isn’t enough.

Shortly after she takes her last breath, Julian takes off to the sea, running so hard his lungs burn. He collapses, when he gets to the rocks, his chest heaving as he sobs.

He doesn’t notice Logan’s appearance. Not until a hand reaches up, winds gently around Julian’s wrist and squeezes.

He raises his tear-streaked face, meets those worried green eyes.

“My mother,” he chokes out, “She got sick. She had a fever and I couldn’t…she’s _gone_ …my mother’s _gone_ …”

Logan leans closer, brings his free hand up to wipe the tears from Julian's face, "I'm sorry."

"She was all I had. She was all...I have  _nothing_."

"No," Logan frowns, "You have me."

Julian actually  _laughs_ , a slightly hysterical sound bursting from his throat, "You. I don't have you. You can barely  _talk_ to me without my brain turning to mush."

"You have me," Logan repeats, insistently. That  _thing_ in his voice, that powerful sound that always sends Julian reeling is back. It makes Julian go weak, makes him forget all his sadness for just a moment. Logan's hands are on his skin, and Julian never wants them to leave. He tilts forward, his upper body hovering over the seawater below. He glances down, eyes catching on the churning waves before he looks back at Logan.

"...are you going to kill me?" He asks softly. The thought doesn't scare him like it should -- an effect of Logan's powers, more than likely.

Logan smiles, his teeth glinting in the sunlight, "No. I'm going to keep you."

He tugs, a little, and Julian tips closer to the water. His one-handed grip on the rocks is all that's keeping him on land. The rational part of his mind is screaming at him, right now; the water means death, he knows, and his disappearance won't do anything to quash the village's fear of the sea. But the other part of his mind is telling him to follow Logan anywhere, to let this man drag him away from his meaningless life.

"Will it hurt?" He asks, not sure if he actually cares about the answer.

"Trust me," Logan says.

It's more of a demand than a question, and Julian can't refuse. He releases his hold on the rocks, lets Logan pull him into the dark water.

Julian Larson is never seen again.

The more rational villagers tell stories of a grief-stricken son, of a boy so attached to his mother he couldn't bear the thought of a life without her. He'd thrown himself into the sea when the fever took her, they say. There had been a storm, the day of his death, and the churning waves must have carried his body into the depths, far from the shore.

Others -- the superstitious sort -- tell a different kind of story.

That Julian, who'd always been a curious boy, had struck a deal with the sea-creature who plagued their town. That he'd desired to join the monster in the waves, had sacrificed his mother's life for the gift of a mermaid's tail. It's ludicrous, of course, and anyone who'd actually  _met_ Julian scoffed at the idea.

Still, nobody has a rational explanation for the single pearl dropped at Dolce Larson's grave, or the faint smell of seawater lingering in the air.

Odd things do tend to happen in their town, after all.


	6. Dating on a Bet

Logan Wright sighed, staring at the letter in his hands. As he read the words, his stomach tensed, churning uncomfortably with every letter. He read it twice, three times, before throwing himself dramatically on his bed and groaning loudly.

Across the hall, Derek Seigerson looked up, raising an eyebrow at his friend through the wide-open door.

“Bad day?” He called, setting down his book to stride into the blond’s room.

Logan mumbled something into his pillow.

“You wanna lift your head a few inches and try that again, big guy?”

A dramatic sigh filled the room, and a blond head moved just slightly off the pillow.

“I got into Juilliard.”

Derek waited a beat, anticipating a clarification.

“...and that’s...bad?”

Logan heaved himself off the bed in one fluid motion, scooping up the acceptance letter as he moved.

“I got into Juilliard,” he said slowly, “and I can’t go. My dad’s pushing for Yale and he won’t pay for anything else. I don’t qualify for any scholarships because of how much money he has. I got into my dream school and I can’t afford it.”

Derek opened his mouth, but Logan snapped again, “Don’t you dare offer to pay it, D. I know we’re friends but I’m not taking that much money from you for nothing.”

“But I have it, Wright,” Derek said, annoyed, “You know I got a full athletics scholarship from Harvard, and I have that college fund from my grandfather that’s going to go totally untouched right now.”

“Derek--”

“What if I had you do something to earn it?”

Logan scoffed, “Like what, clean you room? Make you coffee.”

“Yeah right,” Derek laughed, “Your version of cleaning involves brushing everything under the bed and hoping you don’t need it again. And I buy my coffee, you plebeian.”

“Then what?”

Derek shrugged, “Provide entertainment?”

“What, you want me to put on a hula skirt and dance for you?”

“I was thinking more...public humiliation.”

“A hulu skirt would be public humiliation.”

“Briefly. I prefer to think long-term.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “What the hell are you talking about then?”

“Did you hear we’re getting a new student?” Derek asked, “I overheard Ramsey talking about it this morning, apparently it’s the reason we all had to sign those NDA’s last month.”

“Is there a point to this sudden change of topic, or…”

“I’ll pay your first semester if you can convince him to go out with you. That gives you time to figure out other options.”

“You’ll give me nearly fifty grand to get a guy to go on a date with me. You are aware I’m not a totally hideous monster, right?”

“You’re right, too easy,” Derek agreed, “How about fifty grand to get him to fall for you?”

Logan blinked, slowly, “You want to bet me fifty thousand dollars to get a guy to fall in love with me. What if he’s straight?”

“It’ll be a challenge. Besides, it’s just not some guy.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Derek smirked and pulled a rolled-up magazine out of his back pocket, quickly flipping to a page and pointing.

“It’s this guy.”

Logan picked the magazine up, eyes widening at the picture.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

.

 

Julian Larson scowled at the building in front of him. The red-brick-and-ivy look was pretentious, he decided, and the school crest emblazoned with twenty-four karat gold tacky.

A group of giggling teenage boys hurried past him, jostling him where he stood. He glared at them through his dark Ray-Bans, muttering something profane under his breath. One of the boys turned indignantly, a retort on his lips before he realized who stood before him and scurried away.

“That’s right, you better run,” he spat, straightening his (stupid, uncomfortable, _ugly_ ) blazer.

At the sound of deep laughter behind him, Julian turned, coming face-to-face with a tall blond with devastatingly green eyes and a sharp jawline.

“You’ll fit right in here,” the new boy smirked, holding out a hand, “Logan Wright, your new Prefect. I’ll be taking care of you while you’re here.”

Julian looked at the offered hand disdainfully, keeping his own firmly at his sides.

“I don’t need taking care of,” he snapped, “Besides, I won’t be here long. As soon as my mother realizes boarding school was a terrible idea I’ll be back in California where I belong.”

The blond’s smirk never wavered, but he dropped his hand, “Let me show you to your room. Lucky you, you snagged the biggest one in Stuart Hall. After mine, of course.”

Julian rolled his eyes, shouldering his bag as Logan led him upstairs, “I’m sure it’ll be just as disappointing as I expect.”

Logan tried not to grit his teeth, keeping his smile firmly on his face as he walked to room 207. He pulled the keycard from his pocket, smoothly swiping it to unlock the door.

“So after you get settled we can go grab dinner, I’ll tell you more about the school and what--”

Before Logan could finish, Julian had shouldered past him, grabbed the card from his hand, and shut the door in his face.

“...well it was nice to meet you too, Princess.”

.

 

“I quit,” Logan told Derek a week later, “I don’t care, I’ll go to Yale like my dad wants, Julian Larson is an asshole.”

Derek laughed, highlighting a passage in his textbook, “It wasn’t too much of a challenge if he was straight, but make him an asshole and you quit?”

“A huge asshole,” Logan whined, “I asked him to lunch yesterday and he looked at me like I was a cockroach.”

“You do bear a startling resemblance to an insect.”

“Fuck off.”

“Really, though, it’s only been a few days. I’m sure you can do it.”

Logan glared, “No you’re not. You want me to crash and burn because you think it’d be funny.”

“It would be,” Derek laughed, “But I also kind of want to embarrass the guy. He stole my seat in history and Casey said he was hot yesterday.”

“Poor you,” Logan said dryly, “Your girlfriend thinks a super-famous international celebrity is hot. You must be the first guy in history who’s had to deal with that.”

“It’s different when he’s _here_ and a very viable possibility. Casey’s hot, and Larson’s supposedly a huge slut.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “So you’re worried that your girlfriend - who you’ve cheated on twice, by the way - is going to cheat on you with Julian Larson?”

“Do you want the money or not?”

Logan sighed, “Yeah. I do."

"It's not a big deal, you know. Dude deserves it. Don’t you read the articles? He only got shipped off to boarding school to rehab his image after having some massive blow-up on set. There’s recordings of him berating his co-stars and everything.”

"Really?"

"He threw an iced coffee at Cynthia Taylor because she forgot a line."

"Maybe he was having a bad day?"

"He got kicked out of a club for punching the bartender because he refused to serve him without an I.D."

"...yeah. I guess he is an asshole."

"Besides," Derek shrugged, "I think you can do it."

"I guess we'll see."

.

 

Surprisingly, Derek made the first major breakthrough with the whole Julian Larson scenario.

Logan walked into Stuart after a particularly irritating Warblers rehearsal, only to find Julian and Derek laughing together in the common room. He frowned, slowly coming to a stop in the doorway.

“Logan!” Derek exclaimed when he noticed him, “Dude you missed it! Larson here just threw Thad’s laptop off the roof and he cried it was amazing.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “You realize, as Prefect, I’m going to have to deal with the inevitable incident report on that?

Derek just waved a hand, “Thad won’t file a report, he was trying to doctor naked pictures of celebrities. Pretty sure that’s higher on the hierarchy of things Dalton boys shouldn’t do.”

“Naked pictures of my _mother_ ,” Julian interjected, “That’s kind of an important factor here.”

“Point being, it was fucking hilarious and I’m adopting him,” Derek grinned, throwing an arm around Julian’s shoulders and ruffling his hair while the actor scowled.

Logan just watched the scene quietly, looking faintly amused.

But then Derek suggested Julian come to _dinner_ with them, and a faint sense of panic rose in Logan’s chest.

“Dude, it’s _fine_ ,” Derek muttered as they waited for Julian to change, “Just flirt a little. He loves attention, he’ll eat it up.”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“It’s _Juilliard_."

“It just feels wrong, you know? I'm not sure..."

"Fifty thousand dollars," Derek reminded him, "You get to go to Juilliard."

"...yeah. You're right. For Juilliard."

 

.

 

"I'm starting to think this was a mistake."

Logan glanced up from his reflection, one hand still smoothing gel through his hair, "This was  _your_ idea."

"Just take the money. I know you don't like handouts, but this is...I kind of like him? He's a little bit of a dick, but he's kind of funny."

"We're going on a date  _tonight_ , D."

"I know. Just make it a real date. Forget this whole bet."

Logan sighed and turned from the mirror, crossing his arms over his chest, "Is this because you think you're gonna lose? Because this was your idea."

"I'm saying you were right. We'll figure something out, okay? You can do all my laundry for the rest of the semester or something."

"I'm already in too deep. Besides, I highly doubt I'm gonna convince  _Julian Larson_ to fall in love with me."

 

.

 

"You know, I thought I'd hate Ohio."

Julian turned over one shoulder to smile at Logan, a strange, soft look in his eyes. 

"Oh?"

"I hated my mom for sending me here. Thought you'd all be boring. But  _you_...you're not what I expected at all."

Logan swallowed, hard, tried to keep himself compose when Julian stepped closer, "I'm not boring, then?"

"Not at all," Julian's hand slid up to Logan's arm, squeezing slightly, "You're...different. Exciting. I, um...I've never actually felt like this about someone before."

"...you haven't?"

"Mm-mm," Julian smiled, bit lightly at his lower lip and fluttered his eyelashes, "Do you want to come back to my room?"

 _Say no_ , Logan's mind screamed,  _Say no, you asshole, tell him the truth about everything. Tell him you're sorry. Tell him you want this to be real._

But his body moved of its own accord. His hands lowered to Julian's waist, his lips to Julian's mouth.

They stumbled up the stairs together, Julian half-wrapped around Logan's body.

All of Logan's worries left his mind the moment Julian fell into bed with him.

 

.

 

"I'm calling it off."

Derek let out a breath, an expression of relief flooding his face, "Good. Thank you. You can still have the money, I don't--"

"No. No money. I'm calling it all off. I  _like_ him, D. I like him a lot."

"I know. You're not as subtle as you think."

"Oh god, what am I supposed to tell him?"

"Nothing," Derek insisted, "You don't have to explain a goddamn thing. I won't tell him how this started. You can just move on from here, treat it like a real relationship from here on out."

"I'm not the best liar, Derek."

"It isn't a lie. You  _do_ actually like him."

"If he ever finds out..."

"He won't find out."

 

.

Julian found out.

Of  _course_ he found out.

“How much?”

Logan swallowed hard, refusing to meet Julian’s eyes, “Fifty grand.”

Julian laughed bitterly, “Well. At least I’m an expensive fuck.”

“It’s for Juilliard,” Logan said desperately, trying to explain, “I can’t ask my father for money without him holding it over my head and I didn’t have any...I told Derek I wouldn’t take it, I don’t want it anymore. I want you.”

He reached forward, but Julian yanked his hand away.

“I agreed to it before we met Julian. I didn’t know you. I didn’t love—”

“Don’t,” Julian spat, “Don’t you _dare_.”

Logan pressed his lips together, watching silently as Julian pushed himself to his feet and began to pace back and forth in front of the window. He wrung his hands together, breath coming in shallow gasps as he moved. Logan wanted nothing more than to rise to his feet and gather Julian in his arms, to pull him close and kiss him until he felt better. Instead, he sat perfectly still, watching helplessly as Julian struggled to pull himself together.

After ten minutes, Julian spoke again.

“Double.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“Double. No. Quadruple. More. Enough to pay for all four years. And grad school, if you want it. I’ll give it all to you, right here, right now.”

“Julian…”

“In cash, if you want. I just need you to swear not to tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Logan stepped forward, making an aborted effort to reach for Julian again, “I don’t need your money. I won’t tell anyone about the bet, okay? We can just start over.”

But Julian simply reached into his bag and pulled out his checkbook, scribbling a number full of zeroes and signing his name.

“Julian, please, I don’t need your money.”

“You don’t understand,” Julian said, finally meeting Logan’s eyes. His face was expressionless, eyes blank, “This would _ruin_ me. I’m not letting you destroy my reputation. It’s bad enough as it is, I was supposed to come here to fix it and now… _fuck._ ”

He held the check out, gaze steady on Logan’s eyes. When the blond made no effort to take it, he sighed, setting it down on the table instead.

“Delete my number.”

Julian grabbed his bag and walked out, leaving Logan feeling strangely empty.

 

.

 

 

Dean Ramsey copied Logan on the e-mail with Julian's withdrawal notification.

Logan supervised the cleaning crew who packed up Julian's room, watched as the last remnants of Julian's presence disappeared from Stuart. Derek stood beside him, casting worried glances at Logan's stoic expression.

"You're allowed to be upset," he said softly, "Maybe just give him time? He really liked you, maybe he can forgive you eventually."

"Would you?" Logan asked, "If you found out Casey only dated you because someone paid her to?"

Derek shrugged, "I love her. I'd be pissed, at first. but I love her."

"Yeah. Well I'm not sure he feels that way about me."

 

.

 

Logan didn't expect to see Julian again.

Ever.

So on the day he stepped out of his local coffee shop with his regular four-shot no-foam latte in hand and nearly ran into the other man, he choked.

Julian stopped in his tracks, lowering his sunglasses to peer up at Logan, "What, not even a  _hello?"_

Logan cleared his throat, "Jules. Julian. Hi. What are you doing here?"

"In New York City? Kind of a popular place to be."

"Right. It's just...I heard you got cast in that new movie, I figured you'd be filming already."

"Not for another two months," Julian crossed his arms over his chest, "I'm doing Broadway right now, actually."

"Wow. Broadway, that's...good for you."

"Got to get that EGOT before I hit twenty, after all?"

"Well. Good luck. I'm sure you'll be great."

He expected Julian to end the conversation. Expected Julian to turn the other way the moment he saw Logan at all, really. But he didn't. He stayed put, still staring at Logan over those sunglasses.

"So how's Juilliard, then?"

Logan laughed a little, shifting his coffee from his right to his left hand, "I'm not at Juilliard, actually. Wound up at NYU."

"Oh? Thought that was your dream. You did all that work for it and everything."

"I didn't take the money. Couldn't get a scholarship to Juilliard, and my dad wouldn't pay. But my music teacher knew someone in the music department at NYU and had me play for them. It's not a  _full_ scholarship, but it's enough that I can make it work."

"Well. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I should um...I have a class, to get to, so I should..."

"Right," Julian nodded, stepped to the side to give Logan space, "Goodbye, Logan."

Logan tried for a smile, nodded slightly as he moved to walk past. But he barely made it five feet down the sidewalk before Julian called out again.

"...you didn't take the money? Really?"

"No. I couldn't."

"Why?"

"...because me falling in love with you wasn't part of the deal. I couldn't take it, after that."

Julian blinked, once, "Did you...I told you to delete my number. Did you?"

"No," Logan admitted, "I couldn't."

"If I asked you to call me, then..."

"I would."

"Good. And no bets this time, alright?"

A slow, bright smile spread across Logan's face, "No bets. Promise."


	7. Pornstar!Julian

_"Yeah, right there...harder...fuck,_  harder!"

_Julian drops from his hands to his elbows, the sudden change in angle driving the cock deeper inside of him. It burns, in the best possible way, and he can't help but smirk a little at the feeling. The man behind him adjusts his rhythm, hips thrusting at a pace even faster than before._

_"Oh, yeah, like that," Julian whimpers, voice tinged with just the slightest amount of whine, "Right there, don't stop."_

_"Fuck, yeah, you like that?" The blonde over him grins, brings one hand back to smack_ _against Julian's ass. It sends Julian careening forward, his face pressed against the mattress in front of him._

"Ugh, _cut_!!"

Julian whimpers -- for real, this time -- when Clark pulls out of him. His now-empty hole clenches against nothing, now, and he rolls over, wincing a little. Clark makes a slight face, obviously feeling a little guilty, and passes Julian a pillow from the pile now on the floor.

"Sorry, Syd," Clark says, glancing up at their director, "I didn't mean to hit him that hard."

"No, my fault," Julian says, "I was totally off-balance, I should've adjusted."

Sydney just sighs with annoyance, "Well we can't use any of that now. Nobody wants to watch a video where we cover up Larson's face, that's half his appeal."

"Only half?"

"That and your ass, yeah."

Clark snorts a little, bringing a hand up to cover his grin before Sydney notices and yells even more. She's glancing at the playback of what they  _did_ get, peering critically at the angles.

"You know what, let's break for lunch," she says finally, "I have a migraine anyway."

Sydney makes a vague motion at the rest of the crew, who immediately begin to shut down their equipment. A production assistant grabs two fluffy robes and hands them to Clark and Julian, who wrap themselves up as they rise from the bed.

"I really am sorry," Clark says, "I didn't mean to slap you that hard."

"Relax, Sawyer. I'm used to getting spanked. Besides, the audience  _likes_ when it leaves a mark."

Julian shoots his co-star a smile, wiggling a little as if to say  _see? totally intact, we're all good._

"Well I'll do my best to not knock you over next time. See you after lunch, J."

Clark waves a little as he heads off to the dressing rooms, and Julian waits for the room to clear out before ducking into the adjacent hallway. It's quiet, and the motion-activated lights flicker on as he moves. Obviously, nobody's come this way in hours. The door at the end of the hall is shut tight, but he can hear a soft -- though mildly annoyed -- voice from within. He's careful to not make noise as he opens the door and slips inside, leaning against the wall.

The man at the desk glances up, face softening a little when he recognizes his sudden visitor.

"No," he says into the phone, "That's not... _no_ , we have an exclusive contract. Absolutely... _no_."

He sighs, and Julian can't help but laugh at the expression of sheer annoyance that spreads across Logan's face. He unloops the tie at his waist keeping his robe shut, and steps forward deliberately, letting his hips sway. The effect is instantaneous; Logan's eyes fixate on the man moving towards him, his tongue coming out to wet his lips as he completely ignores his phone call. Julian loves this, the mesmerized look Logan gets as he stalks towards him.

"Look, could I uh...I'm gonna have to call you back," Logan chokes out, as Julian drapes himself over the other man's lap, "Something just came up."

Julian grins as Logan hangs up the phone, "Something came up, alright."

"You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" Logan says, squeezing firmly at Julian's waist, "Thought you'd be filming still."

"Clark and I fucked up Sydney's shot. I think she was so fed up with us she had to get out. Either that or she just  _really_ needed to take a lunch at ten-thirty."

"Oh, you're filming with Clark?" Logan asks. Julian doesn't miss the jealousy in his voice.

"We're fan favorites, you know that. Studio's best ass with its biggest cock, and all."

Logan looks a little annoyed, and Julian grins and leans in, meeting Logan's lips in a soft kiss. He can feel Logan's hands slide low on his hips, and he grinds down against Logan's lap. They're not going to fuck, he knows -- Logan has a  _thing_ , about fucking him after a scene, and Julian won't push it. Still, he likes to have his fun.

"You don't have to be jealous over Clark," he says softly, when Logan breaks the kiss, "Believe it or not, having a dozen people tell you how to moan when you're getting fucked kind of kills any intrigue in dating co-stars."

"I know," Logan says, with a soft sigh, "I just...I think it's that we have to hide this, you know? He can touch you as much as he wants--"

"On  _camera_."

"--on  _camera_ , sure, and I can't. At all."

Julian's quiet for a moment, leans back to look into Logan's eyes.

"This was  _your_ idea," he reminds him, "Keeping this secret? That was you."

"I know. We have to, though. If my father found out..."

"He'd disown you for fucking the whores?"

"Don't call yourself that."

Julian laughs, "I literally have sex for money, Logan. This isn't me being self-deprecating, it's me being honest."

"He could  _fire_ you, Jules."

"Please. I'm the studio's top star, he'd be an idiot to fire me."

"He could fire  _me_ , then."

"You're smart," Julian says, running a hand through Logan's hair, "You have a degree and everything. You'd figure something out."

"I wouldn't be as close to you."

Logan brings one hand up to cup Julian's face, his thumb stroking softly along his jawline. This is Julian's favorite part, right here. He loves when Logan throws him down onto his bed with a dark look in his eyes, sure. But he's used to that, spends day after day getting fucked in every position imaginable. But this? This softness, the tender way Logan holds him when it's just the two of them? This is what Julian  _craves_.

"Tell me again," he says softly, curling up against Logan's chest, "About us."

Logan pulls him even closer, holds Julian gently and goes through the same promises for the hundredth time.

"Another year, maybe," he says, "I just have to prove to my dad that I can handle this. He's ready to retire, he's been saying it for years. Once he does, I get his job. It's more money. Less work. I'm gonna buy us a house. A nice one."

"With a pool?"

"With a pool. We're gonna get you back in those acting classes. I'll be able to take care of you while you go on auditions. Real ones. And they'll all love you, almost as much as I do."

Julian hums a little, rests his head on Logan's shoulder as the man talks.

"Then one day I'll buy you a ring," Logan continues, "All nice and shiny. A small wedding, I think. You'll look beautiful. Just like always."

"And we'll be happy?"

"Yes. We'll be happy."

It's the one promise Logan wants to keep more than all the rest. He can live without a pool, could tolerate the bare minimum if it means he gets Julian. But them being together, being  _happy_ , that's something he needs to make work.

Julian tilts his chin up, eyes shining as he smiles at Logan, "I am, you know. Happy."

"Well I want you to be even happier."

"That's why I love you."

"I love you too."

They kiss once more, just as tenderly as before. But before too long, the familiar sound of the film crew echoes through the hall once more. Julian pulls back looking just the smallest bit sad.

"Guess I should get back out there," he says, "Don't work too hard, okay? Remember to eat. And don't be late for dinner this time, okay? I saved my entire last paycheck just for this restaurant, and I don't want to get stuck eating alone again."

"I'll be there," Logan promises, "Seven o'clock sharp."

"You better."

Julian slides off Logan's lap, tightens his robe once more, and strolls from the room. Logan watches him go, only briefly debates following him. But he knows he'll get too jealous, watching Julian fall into bed with Clark Sawyer. It's easier to keep it a secret like this, with Logan locked up in an office, far away from what actually goes on on set. Instead, he turns back to his computer, opens the tab he'd quickly exited when Julian walked in, and scrolls through the page until he finds a phone number.

"Hi, I'm calling about the house on Mona Lisa Drive," he says, when the call connects, "I want to put in an offer."


	8. Single Parents

“ _Daddy_ ,” Little Logan whines, tugging at Logan’s jeans, “I wanna go on the slide.”

“So go on the slide,” Logan says, patiently, “You don’t need to ask to play, you know that.”

The five-year-old looks over towards the slide, a worried expression on his face, “But daddy someone’s _on_ the slide.”

Logan kneels, dropping a kiss to his son’s forehead, “Lolo, we talked about sharing, remember? Just go over there and ask if you can slide, too.”

His son looks a little nervous, glancing once more at the other child. He leans in, whispering, “Daddy maybe he’s _mean_.”

It takes every ounce of self control Logan has to keep from laughing, “I’m sure he’s nice. If he’s not, just yell for me and I’ll save you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He pushes his son forward, murmuring encouraging words until his son runs off to the slide. Logan watches as the boy timidly approaches the child on the slide, breathes a sigh of relief when the kid smiles and hops off.

“He yours?” A voice says beside him, and Logan looks up.

Logan’s been a little lonely, since the divorce. He hasn’t really put that much effort into dating again, hasn’t put himself out there. But he knows it’s not just his loneliness talking when he locks eyes with _the_ most beautiful man he’s ever seen. He’s a few inches shorter than Logan, with lightly tanned skin and wavy dark hair. His eyes are a deep brown, his lips full and pink.

“The blonde one? On the swing?” The man clarifies, “That’s your kid, right?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Logan nods, glancing over at his child, “Logan. He’s five.”

“That’s mine, next to him,” The man says, “Tal. Four. We just moved out here, I was a little worried about him making friends.”

“God, tell me about it. He’s so shy, I don’t know what to do with him half the time.”

“Tal’s pretty outgoing, usually. But some of the moms here are so pretentious, you know. It’s like they think he’s not good enough for their little brats because he’s not on the waitlist for whatever fancy kindergarten is in this year.”

“Yeah, they’re the same way with mine. He has the tendency to get a little messy sometimes, and they basically cry in fear at the sight of mud.”

The man laughs a little, then holds out one hand, “I’m Julian, by the way.”

“Logan.”

“…I thought your kid was Logan.”

“He is,” Logan winces a little, “It’s a family name, I kinda got talked into it. He’s John Logan the Fourth.”

“The _Fourth_?”

“It’s about the generation you run out of nicknames, but we figured that one out too late. My grandfather was John, my dad Johnny. I’m Logan, so he’s…well, Lolo for now, but he’ll grow out of that in the next few years.”

“I can’t believe your wife let you saddle that poor kid with a _the fourth_ name.”

“Oh, uh. Husband, actually. Ex-husband.”

“Oh,” Julian’s eyes widen, just a little, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. That was like, crazy heteronormative of me.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m used to it. Straight people don’t really think about it, sometimes.”

“I’m not, actually. I’m bi, so I totally shouldn’t have…ex? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Logan shrugs, “It’s been two years, I’m over it. It had been coming for a while anyway. We weren’t right for each other.”

“Yeah. Neither were Tal’s mom and I.”

“So you’re divorced too?”

“Never married, actually,” Julian says, “Tal was kind of an accident. A nice one, but we definitely weren’t planning on it.”

“So she’s…?”

“Living about two hours north of here. She’s engaged, now, actually. Tal’s very excited to be the ring-bearer in her wedding.”

“Joint custody?”

“Yeah. Switch off weekends and holidays, try to keep things as calm as possible.”

“Us too.”

Julian glances over at the kids, smiling a little when he sees Lolo helping Tal up a ladder leading to a taller slide.

“It’s kind of hard sometimes, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Being a single dad.”

“Oh,” Logan follows Julian’s gaze to the kids. Tal shrieks as he zips down the slide, and Lolo giggles as he follows after him, “It’s…probably the most stressful thing I’ve ever done. I keep waiting for the day where I completely fuck it up.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They just stand there, for a few minutes, watching the boys climb all over the playground. Tal’s a little smaller than Lolo is, but Lolo slows himself down, waiting for his new friend before running off again.

“Hey,” Logan says suddenly, “I don’t really know if there’s specific social protocol for this or anything, because it kind of feels more stressful than like, asking someone on a date, but um..do you think we could set up a playdate, or something? He’s just so shy, and I want him to have friends…”

“No, that sounds great,” Julian pulls his phone from his pocket, “He’s with his mom next week, but the week after? He’s pretty much free every day but Thursdays.”

“That’s fine, we have karate on Thursdays anyway.”

Logan enters his number in Julian’s phone, smiles a little when he he sees Julian’s wallpaper — it’s a close up picture of him and his son, both beaming widely into the camera.

“Cute,” he says, handing it back. Julian laughs a little.

“Yeah, he really likes selfies. Figures I’d have a son just as vain as I am.”

“Hey, if I looked like you I’d be vain too.”

It’s definitely too forward, but Julian doesn’t seem to mind. His smile widens, in fact, and he gives Logan a quick once-over.

“I’d say you definitely deserve to be a little vain, too.”

Logan can feel his face heating up a little, and he opens his mouth to say something.

“ _Daddy_!”

He turns, looking up just in time to catch his son as he leaps into his arms. He’s been growing like a weed, lately, and Logan’s almost a little startled by the weight crushing against his chest.

“Hey buddy,” he says, wrapping his arms around Lolo and hauling him onto his hip, “Are you having fun?”

“I made a _friend_!” Lolo exclaims proudly, turning to point at the smaller boy running up to them, “Can Tal come to my birthday party, daddy?”

“Your birthday party isn’t for another two months, Lo. We don’t even have invitations yet.”

Lolo sticks his lower lip out, and Logan senses a tantrum coming on.

“Tal would _love_ to come to your birthday party,” Julian says quickly, his own dad instinct obviously kicking in, “I’ll put it on our calendar as soon as we get home.”

He shoots a wink at Logan, who smiles gratefully. Tal finally catches up to the group, and Julian bends down to scoop him up.

“Papa!” Tal’s a little winded, after all the running, “Lolo likes cars too! An’ trucks! An’ flowers!”

“Oh my gosh, you two are practically twins!” Julian exclaims, kissing Tal’s flushed cheeks, “It’s fun making friends, isn’t it?”

“ _So_ fun!” Tal beams, and Logan can see the family resemblance in their smiles, “But I’m _sleepy_ , papa.”

“I know baby, it’s past your nap time isn’t it?”

Tal nods, his tiny hands fisting in Julian’s shirt. He leans his cheek up against the man’s shoulder, blinking sleepily at Logan and Lolo.

“I should get him home,” Julian tells them both, “But we’ll definitely meet up again. Even before your birthday, okay?”

Lolo looks delighted, and Logan smiles at them.

“I’ll text you later, to set up a playdate,” he says.

“Perfect. And just for the record? My schedule’s just as open as his. If you ever, y’know, feel like doing something without the kids.”

He shoots Logan a wink, leaving the blonde gaping a little as he turns to head home.

“Daddy?” Lolo whispers, as they walk away, “I like them.”

“Yeah, little buddy. I do too.”


	9. Kitten-Sharing

When Logan steps into his apartment at seven o’clock after work on Tuesday and finds a tiny kitten curled up on his kitchen counter, he doesn’t even have the energy to be surprised. Work had been absolutely brutal, and having a strange cat show up in his home is just the cherry on top of a very weird day. He dumps his coat by the front door, leaves his wallet and keys on the kitchen table, and peers curiously at the cat.

It’s a small creature, with soft-looking white fur and tiny black paws. It’s head tilts upward when Logan moves closer, an expression on its face like it’s _annoyed_ by the intrusion.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Logan says, frowning, “This is _my_ apartment. How’d you even get in…?”

He looks around, sighing a little when he sees the open living room window. It had been stuffy this morning, his A/C on the fritz yet again, and he must have forgotten to close it before leaving for work. It’s still a wonder the cat had made it in, though — its legs look too small to navigate the old fire escape outside, and that jump from the floor to the counter must be nearly four whole feet.

“Shoo,” Logan says, waving his hands at the thing, “Go on, get out. Back the way you came.”

The cat just lowers its face back to the counter, staring up at Logan.

“Come on,” Logan continues, “I don’t have cat food. I barely kept a _bird_ alive in high school, you really don’t want to be here. Go on, I’m sure your real owner misses you.”

When the thing _still_ doesn’t move, Logan just rolls his eyes and turns away. He’s sure the kitten will get bored eventually and head home, maybe if he just ignores the damn thing it’ll take the hint.

He starts on dinner - a simple sautéed chicken, paired with whatever vegetables he has in his fridge. It’s a little boring, but it’s quick and easy and really all Logan has the motivation to manage right now. He spoons everything onto a plate and sits at his table, ready to dig in.

“ _Mrow_ ,” he hears suddenly. He looks up, sees the kitten staring at him.

“No. This is my food. Not yours.”

The kitten meows again and stands, and Logan frowns when he sees the stubby little legs resting under his body.

“Are you _broken_?”

The cat leaps neatly from the counter to the table, perching across from Logan. It meows again and creeps closer, and Logan pulls his plate closer.

“This isn’t cat food,” he says, “For all I know, this could kill you.”

This time, the meow is almost aggressive, echoing throughout Logan’s apartment. The cat moves even closer, its tiny nose sniffing around Logan’s plate.

“Oh my god, fine,” Logan breaks off a tiny piece of chicken, tossing it onto the table. The cat moves to it quickly, scooping up the piece with a pink tongue. It looks satisfied, after, curling up on the table beside Logan’s plate.

He finishes the rest of his dinner quickly, half-worried the cat will steal more of his meal. But it seems to have fallen asleep on the table, and ignores Logan as he washes his plate and heads off to his bedroom.

Logan almost forgets about the thing as he showers and changes into pajamas. He’s nearly asleep when a soft weight lands at the foot of his bed, and he cracks one eye open to watch the kitten stalk towards him.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Some little girl who misses you, or something?”

The cat just meows again, kneading its front paws against Logan’s chest. It tickles, a little, but Logan can’t bring himself to move away. He lets the cat plop down on top of him. The purring is almost comforting, really, and the soft sound lulls Logan to sleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, he’s almost disappointed to find the cat gone.

He glances at the open window as he heads off to work, hesitating for just a moment.

In the end, it stays open.

The cat’s there _again_ , when he returns home, sitting on the kitchen counter just as it had the day before.

“Well hello again,” Logan says, feeling a bit more cheerful than yesterday, “You’re in luck. Cat food was on sale at the grocery store, and I had a feeling I’d be seeing you again.”

He has to dig his rarely-used can opener out of a kitchen drawer. The cat food smells pretty disgusting, but Logan just sets the open can on the counter before moving to his own food.

He’s midway through preparing his steak when he hears a crash.

The can’s on the floor, when he turns, the mushy contents spilling across the tile. The cat is almost _glaring_ at Logan, its paws crossed haughtily in front of his face.

“What, was that not good enough for you?” Logan scowls and bends down to clean up the miss, grimacing at the texture as he scoops it up with a paper towel, “I’m sorry I can’t afford the fancy shit, but _you’re not mine_.”

The cat meows, loudly, and Logan sighs.

“This is _steak_ ,” he complains as he prepares his plate, “It was supposed to be all mine. You’re a little shit, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Still, he cuts off a sliver of the meat, tears it into kitten-sized pieces and drops it onto the table as he eats his own food. The cat eats every morsel, then hops off the table and heads down the hallway.

Logan isn’t all that surprised to find the cat already in his bed, when he finally makes his way to the bedroom. It’s staked a claim on Logan’s pillow, curled itself into a tiny ball right in the center.

“You don’t pay rent,” Logan complains, fully aware of how damn ridiculous he sounds talking to a _cat_ , “You don’t get to take over my bed.”

The kitten, naturally, says nothing.

“I guess I should probably give you a name, if you’re going to hang around. Furball?”

The cat opens one eye. He doesn’t look pleased.

“Scratchy.”

The cat tilts his head.

“Look, I’m not creative with this kind of thing, alright?” Logan sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, “I guess…your paws are a different color, so maybe like…Mittens?”

The cat seems to consider that. He lowers his head back to the pillow, closes his eyes and starts to purr.

“Alright then,” Logan clambers into bed, careful to avoid jostling the cat, “Mittens it is.”

He gets kind of used to having Mittens around. He’s always gone in the morning, by the time Logan wakes up. But when Logan gets home from work, usually just at sundown, Mittens is waiting for him in the kitchen. It’s nice, having something to talk to, even if Mittens can’t talk back.

“I should go to the gym more, shouldn’t I? I was in way better shape in high school than I am now.”

Mittens meows.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He supposes he should be a little concerned, that he seems to have adopted a cat. But the thing _does_ seem pretty well cared for — he shows up one day with shorter fur than usual, like he’s just been groomed. Despite always stealing Logan’s dinner, it doesn’t appear to be starving. In fact, Logan notices after a few weeks that Mittens is developing a little bit of a belly. He pokes at it, frowning.

“Maybe _you_ should go to the gym, too.”

Mittens yowls.

Two months after Logan first sees Mittens, his washing machine breaks. It’s not a complete travesty — the building has a separate laundry room downstairs, but in a building without an elevator the whole thing is a little bit of a hassle. He waits until early Sunday morning, when he’s fairly certain the machines will be mostly empty, and carts his basket of clothes downstairs.

He’d been right; the room _is_ mostly empty, save for one man moving his things from a washer to a dryer. He’s not paying much attention, focused on gathering up all his clothes. But then he hauls his own laundry basket up to his hip, and Logan sees a familiar pair of pointed ears sticking out from a tangle of sheets.

“Oh my god, Mittens,” he says, without thinking.

The man looks up, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry,” Logan says, “I just…the cat?”

“You mean Sneakers?” The man frowns in confusion, glancing over at the creature, “What about him?”

“ _Sneakers_? Wait, is he _yours_?”

The man looks amused, “Yes? Why, do _you_ make a habit of carting around strange animals in laundry baskets?”

“No, I just mean,” Logan shakes his head, dropping his own basket, “He’s been sneaking into my apartment for the past few weeks. He’s there when I get back from work and disappears sometime during the night.”

The man gapes, “Wait, are _you_ the reason he’s been gaining weight?”

“Well he won’t eat cat food, I didn’t want him to starve!”

“I feed him!” The man says, defensively, “He’s _mine_.”

“I didn’t know that. I thought maybe he was a stray or something.”

“Does he look like a stray?”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t know shit about animals.”

Mittens — or _Sneakers —_ meows suddenly, hopping out of the man’s laundry basket and moving Logan’s way. He cranes his neck upwards, making soft noises of annoyance until Logan reaches out to scratch behind his ears. The man watches for a moment, a small frown on his face.

“I guess maybe he gets lonely,” he says, “I usually work nights, so I leave around five or six and don’t get home until dawn.”

“Maybe he’s just switching off, then. Staying with you during the day and me at night.”

“Well. Thanks for looking after him, I guess.”

“Sure,” Logan scoops the cat up with one arm, moving to hand him back to his actual owner, “I gotta say, I kind of like having him around.”

The man takes Sneakers — _Mittens_ — and cradles him close. He looks up at Logan, biting at his lower lip.

“…you know,” he says finally, “If you do really like him we could probably work out some kind of joint-custody arrangement. Seems like he’s already decided on the visitation schedule.”

“Yeah?” Logan grins, “I’d kinda like that.”

“We should probably work out a feeding schedule, though. I don’t want my baby getting fat, you know.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m in apartment 3A, if you want to come by later. To talk custody, you know.”

“Well I don’t know,” Logan purses his lips, “Kinda sounds like I should consult with my lawyer, first.”

“Tell you what, I’ll split my last bottle of wine with you if you keep lawyers out of it.”

“Deal.”

The man grins, dropping the cat back into his laundry basket and picking it up once more.

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Julian, by the way.”

“Logan.”


	10. Poolboy!Logan

“…so anyway, I obviously had to break up with her, you know.”

Julian snorts, “Hold up, D, let me get this straight - you dumped a girl because you couldn’t figure out what to buy her for her birthday?”

“Well she doesn’t wear jewelry! I’m shit at picking out clothes for girls, she’s not a huge fan of any specific band so I couldn’t go the concert ticket route, and she has _no_ hobbies other than like, I don’t know, painting her nails or something.”

“Isn’t she into horseback riding?”

“I wasn’t gonna buy her a fucking _horse_ , we’d only been dating three months!”

“You’re absolutely useless. Why any of these people date you, I have no idea.”

“You’re one to talk,” Derek glances over at Julian, “Didn’t you dump your last girlfriend because she had, and I quote, _abnormally long toes_?”

“They looked like fingers! One time she put her feet on my leg while I was sleeping and I thought it was a goblin trying to drag me off the bed!”

“What about the guy you broke up with just after Christmas? Because you didn’t like the photo he posted of you guys on Instagram?”

Julian narrows his eyes, “He _specifically_ used the Hudson filter because he knew it washes me out and he wanted to look better. Everyone knows Valencia is the most flattering.”

“Point being,” Derek says, half-interrupting him, “You can’t knock _me_ for how I justify my break-ups when you’re just as bad.”

“I can, and I will.”

“Idiot.”

Julian sticks his tongue out, shifting on his lounge chair and raising one knee. It pisses Derek off a little, that they’ve been outside for all of an hour and Julian’s already looking lightly tanned. He knows there’s no one to show off to out here by his parents’ pool, but that doesn’t mean he’s _happy_ about Julian looking better than him.

“You may as well just wear a fucking speedo, at this point,” he says after a moment, glancing at the tiny swim trunks Julian’s wearing low around his hips, “Honestly, it looks like you raided the children’s section for those.”

“Didn’t think seeing my ass in a speedo was something you thought about, D.”

Derek has a retort ready, but he’s thrown off by the sound of the backyard gate opening and closing. Julian looks up curiously, but Derek just waves one hand lazily as a tall blonde stalks up to the pool. He nods back at Derek, lets his eyes hesitate just a moment on Julian before he turns to focus on the water.

“Fuck,” Julian says, under his breath, “Who is _that_?”

“Logan? New poolboy. Guess the last guy went on vacation for the summer, or something.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing _him_ in a speedo.”

“Don’t be gross. We don’t objectify the help in this house.”

“But you still call them _the help_ , is that right?”

“Says the guy with a personal chef _and_ a nutritionist.”

“Who I’m _very_ polite to,” Julian says haughtily, “Rav and Miranda adore me.”

“I’m sure they adore the paychecks you give them, at least,” Derek says, “Oh, fuck, speaking of…I think mom left Logan’s in the kitchen. I’ll be back.”

He hauls himself off his lounge chair, grabbing the two empty lemonade glasses from the table between them. Julian rolls over onto his stomach, folding his arms under his chin. It gives him a decent view of the blonde cleaning the pool, and what a _nice_ view that is.

The man looks tall, from where Julian’s sitting. Tall and blonde with nicely defined arms. Just Julian’s type, really. He bends over to check the filters, and Julian’s eyes drift across his body. His ass is decent. Not _fantastic_ , but Julian’s used to being mildly disappointed by any ass that isn’t his own.

Still, Derek’s new poolboy is a pretty fantastic specimen of man, and Julian _wants_.

He rises from his chair, stretching his arms above his head in a rather exaggerated manner that always draws focus his way. This Logan fellow is no different — he looks up, pauses in his cleaning to look Julian up and down. Julian preens a little at the attention.

“I won’t be in your way too much if I lay out by the pool, will I?” Julian asks, moving closer and stretching out on the edge of the water, “The sun’s just so much better over here.”

Logan raises one eyebrow, “No. You’re fine.”

Julian just grins and rolls over onto his stomach, arching his back just the slightest bit to best show off his ass. He lets one arm dangle into the water, uses the other as a cushion for his head. Logan bustles around the pool, using a long-handled net to scoop up stray leaves from the water. Once he’s a little closer, Julian speaks again.

“So, do you like cleaning pools?”

“It’s a job.”

“Doesn’t seem to be too hard, at least. You get to spend time in the sun.”

“Sure,” Logan says, stepping over Julian, “But sometimes I have to deal with spoiled brats who think it’s fun to condescend to people who do their dirty work.”

Julian frowns, propping his chin on his hands, “I’m not trying to be condescending.”

“ _Nobody_ likes cleaning pools. They do it for money.”

“There are other ways to get money. With a face like yours, you could model.”

Logan makes a face, “Yeah, no thanks.”

“What, you have a problem with modeling?”

“With prancing around wearing next to nothing and pouting at cameras? I’d like something a little bit more fulfilling than that, thank you.”

“… _I’m_ a model.”

Logan pauses in his cleaning and glances down, “Oh. Well I’m sure you’re very good at it.”

“I am, actually. Better than you are at cleaning pools, that’s for sure,” Julian pulls a large leaf from the water, tossing it at Logan. The man looks a little thrown off.

“Look, I didn’t mean…I’m sure modeling is very fulfilling.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You were rude about _my_ job too, let me remind you.”

“Not _intentionally_ ,” Julian snaps back, “I was trying to make conversation. _You_ just wanted to be a dick.”

“I don’t _want_ to be a dick, I just am.”

“Sure. God, I can’t believe I was trying to flirt with you.”

Julian hauls himself up, dusts off his skin and moves back toward the house. But Logan stops him, one arm on his chest.

“You were trying to flirt?”

“Obviously.”

“You’re pretty bad at it.”

Julian scowls, “How dare you. Do you have any idea how many people want to get with this?”

“Loads, I’m sure,” Logan’s grinning now, “You never had to learn, did you? You’re just so attractive that you just look at people and they fall all over you. Hate to tell you, but I’m not that easy.”

“Excuse you, I’m a fucking _catch_. I’m hot, I’m rich, and any normal human would kill to date a model. Just because _you’re_ blind—“

“Not blind. Just picky.”

“Oh, so now you’re telling me I’m not good enough for you?”

Logan’s eyes drift over Julian’s body again, “I didn’t say _that_.”

Before Julian can settle _that_ confusion, Derek reappears, casting amused glances at both of them. He’s holding two beers in one hand, a small white envelope in the other.

“Your check,” he says, handing the envelope to Logan, “Let me know if it’s wrong, mom straight up forgets how much to pay people sometimes.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Logan folds the check in half without looking, tucking it into the pocket of his shorts, “Thanks.”

“She also wanted to know if you can come on Thursday next week, instead. We’re having a party that night so I guess she wants everything looking pristine.”

“Depends,” Logan hauls his collection of supplies over one shoulder, “Is princess gonna be around?”

Derek snorts a little and glances Julian’s way, “I can lock him up, if you need.”

“Nah, I’d prefer him here. Better view, y’know?”

Julian gapes, and Logan shoots him a wink.

“Well he’ll be here, then,” Derek promises, “ _I_ can make myself scarce, though.”

“Perfect. Maybe next time he’ll work up the eloquence to actually ask for my phone number.”

He spins away before Julian can come up with a response, heads out the gate and out of sight. Derek laughs and claps Julian on the back.

“Finally met your match, huh? In my _poolboy_ , too.”

“Fuck, D,” Julian says, voice almost a whimper, “I _want_ him.”

“Guess you better work up some eloquence for him, hm?”


	11. Hogwarts

“Heard you got another Howler.”

Logan barely glances up as Julian drops heavily into the seat beside him, reaching over to steal one of Logan’s pumpkin pasties.

“Everyone heard,” Logan says, “That’s kind of the purpose of a Howler, you know.”

Julian doesn’t seem bothered by his sarcasm, “What was it this time? He didn’t find out you got detention already, did he?”

“Who knows, really. Something about bringing shame upon the Wright family, or something.”

Logan knows exactly what the Howler had been, of course — a rehash of their normal argument, the same one they’ve been having for years. The only argument he can’t tell Julian and Derek about.

Johnny isn’t happy with the _company_ that Logan keeps. The Wright family is one of the last remaining pure-blood lines, with generations of Logan’s ancestors serving in prominent positions in the Ministry of Magic. Johnny himself had just been named Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, in addition to his long-held position in the Wizengamot. So when he’d found out that his son was cavorting around with half-bloods, he’d thrown an absolute fit.

_“The Seigersons are blood traitors,” Johnny had spat at him in a particularly fiery rage over the summer, “And the Larson boy? He has Veela blood, Logan! It’s absurd that Dumbledore even let him into that school!”_

He knows it could be worse. So much worse. For all his talk of keeping the bloodline pure, his father isn’t nearly as delusional than some of the other families. He’d never fully embraced the values eschewed by families like the Malfoys, had toed just shy of the line of the Death Eaters.

Still, he’s been very clear about his disapproval when it comes to Logan’s friends. Logan can’t quite be arsed to care, though. Derek’s been his closest confidant since they’d met at the tender age of eight, and Julian…

He glances up. Julian smiles when he catches Logan’s eye, popping another morsel of pumpkin pasty into his mouth. He seems to be getting even more beautiful by the day, and Logan finds it horrendously unfair. Julian’s one of his closest friends, of course. But sometimes his Veela blood makes things very difficult.

Admittedly, Logan doesn’t know much about Veela. He’d been banned from a good portion of Care of Magical Creatures class back in third year after a nasty interaction with a Hippogriff, and had wound up missing the lesson on Veela. But Julian had returned from class in a nasty mood, and Derek with bandaged knuckles, so Logan can only assume that one of the other students — a Gryffindor, most likely — had had some choice words about the topic. It’s really for the better that Logan hadn’t been there.

What Logan _does_ know about Veela, though, is the effect they have other people. He’s seen fully grown men make utter fools of themselves in front of full-blooded Veela, watched his own father _drool_ over a group of the women. Julian may not be a full Veela, but he definitely inherited a good amount of appeal. He’s stunningly beautiful, drawing attention wherever he goes. Even Logan, who’s known Julian since they were First Years, finds himself frequently captivated by the boy’s beauty.

It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Even now, with Julian stealing his food and copying his Potions essay, Logan finds himself staring. Julian’s dark hair seems almost to glimmer in the light, matching the golden twinkle in his eyes when he looks up. He smiles, again, and Logan’s eyes trace the curve of his pink lips.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving?” Julian asks, and it takes Logan a moment to comprehend the question.

“Leaving for what—oh _shit_ , the match!”

He darts off to the Quidditch pitch, followed by the sound of Julian’s laughter.

 

.

 

For as much as Logan loves being at Hogwarts, even he will freely admit that some of their assignments are _horrifically_ fucked up. He’s heard of detention being held in the Forbidden Forest, of dangerous creatures being kept locked up within the castle walls. So many things that seem inappropriate, so many lessons that shouldn’t be taught immature groups of teenagers.

Like making _Amortentia_ in Potions.

It has the potential to be incredibly embarrassing. Logan’s half-worried about what he’ll smell, what he’ll _say_ when questioned. He wishes he’d known what they’d be brewing today. He would’ve come up with an excuse to skive off class.

Most of them fail at making the potion, in the end. Logan’s own has turned a murky gray color, and his isn’t even the worst in the room. Reed Van Kamp’s seems to have exploded over him, and Dwight Houston is scowling at the congealed mess in his own cauldron. Derek’s, though, is emitting the proper opal sheen, and Julian’s surprisingly managed to come somewhat close. 

They’re all meant to smell the best one, after, and Derek’s potion is divided into tiny vials to pass around the room. Derek chuckles when he smells his own, glancing across the room at Casey Lambert, who grins back. Julian takes a long inhale and closes his eyes, a tiny smile on his lips.

Logan hesitates a moment before bringing his own vial up to nose.

Coffee, naturally.

Something sweet, a sugary scene he can't quite place.

And the smell of rain, freshly falling on the grass.

His eyes snap open, and he nearly drops the vial to the floor. Julian’s staring at him, curiously, and Logan just shakes his head.

“What did you smell?” Julian asks, obviously not understanding Logan’s head shake.

“Nothing, really,” Logan lies, “Food, mostly.”

“Me too,” Julian says with a smile, “Pumpkin pasties.”

“Well if you love them so much, get your own and stop stealing _mine_.”

Julian pouts, “But it wouldn’t be the _same_.”

He leans into Logan, playfully jostling at the blonde’s shoulder. As he moves, his hair brushes against Logan’s face, the strands tingling his nose. Logan breathes in.

Coffee.

Sweet -- the scent of the Sugar Quills he's constantly sucking on.

Rain.

Logan moves away, “I should clean this out,” he says, grabbing his cauldron, “Before it stains again.”

He carries the cauldron across the room, ignores Julian calling after him in confusion, “Isn’t that what _scourgify_ is for?!”

 

.

 

“Huntsman is sick,” Derek says, the moment Logan steps into the Slytherin changing rooms, “Somehow caught _dragon pox,_ the absolute idiot.”

One of the Chasers looks up, frowning, “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine, they sent him to St. Mungo’s this morning,” Derek waves a hand in the air, “Point being, we’re down a Seeker ten minutes prior to a match, and I am _not_ losing to Hufflepuff.”

“Well there’s got to be someone, right? We trained an alternate?”

Derek scowls, “Look, I’ve been a little busy, alright? With the N.E.W.T.s coming up and everything? I haven’t exactly been able to focus on the team as much.”

“So we have no Seeker? Nobody who can stay on a broom and try their best at catching the Snitch?”

“No,” Derek growls and drags a hand through his hair, “We don’t… _fuck_. We do.”

“We do?”

“Give me ten minutes,” Derek says suddenly, before darting out of the room entirely.

When he returns, it’s with an unhappy-looking Julian in tow.

“I’m not doing this,” Julian argues, “Because we’re gonna lose, and you’re gonna blame me, and then you’re going to turn it into this whole _thing_.”

“We’ve got a great group of Chasers,” Derek tells him, “Between Casey and Sydney and Sebastian, we can work up over a hundred-fifty points. I’ll keep Hufflepuff from scoring even once. Logan, Mikey, do whatever you can do aim those Bludgers right at Hufflepuff’s Seeker, alright? We can do this.”

“Derek—“

“Look, Jules, all I need you to do is stay on your broom and pretend you know what’s going on. You’ve practiced with me and Lo before, I know you’re not half-bad. Please. We don’t have any other option.”

Julian sighs, “Right. Fine. But you’re not allowed to get mad at me if we lose, okay?”

“We’re not going to lose.”

They lose.

They make their best effort — their Chasers score a whopping one hundred-thirty points, and Derek manages to block all but two shots through their own goal hoops. Logan does his best to aim every Bludger at poor Bailey Tipton, but it’s not enough.

He sees Julian and Bailey dive together, watches with a significant amount of anxiety as they hurtle closer to the ground. He’s frozen in the air, unable to do anything to help out. He watches in horror as Julian gets nearer to the ground, breathing a sigh of relief when he pulls out of the descent just before he makes contact.

But Julian’s not as used to flying as the others — the movement slows him down just a little, enough that Tipton manages to overpass him by inches, hand curling around the Snitch.

Julian takes it harder than the rest.

He’s quiet in the changing room, avoids eye contact with the rest of the team. When Derek, who’s never been great at dealing with losing, storms out of of the room, Julian’s shoulders droop.

“Hey,” Logan says softly, heading his way, “You did really good, alright? That dive was _insane_ , most people would’ve killed themselves trying something like that.”

“I _had_ it,” Julian says, “I was so close, and I just…I should’ve caught it.”

“Sure, maybe. But Derek shouldn’t have let those two goals in. Sebastian should’ve flown faster. Mikey and I should’ve aimed better. It’s a team effort, always. It’s not your fault.”

“Derek’s mad.”

“Derek’s a sore loser. He’ll get over it. Now go on, change. I’m sure you’re just as hungry as I am right now.”

Julian finally rises from his seat on the bench, reaching over his head and pulling his jersey over his head. Logan, who’s already changed, doesn’t know where else to look. He tries to avert his eyes as Julian steps out of his clothes.

But that golden expanse of tanned skin draws him in. Julian turns away, rifling through his bag for a fresh change of clothes. Logan’s eyes trail down the sweat beading at his hairline, the faint freckles dotting his shoulders, the curve of his ass…

He clears his throat and turns away, blinking away _those_ thoughts. Julian changes quickly, clapping Logan on the back once he’s ready.

“Come on, you’re right. I am starving.”

 

.

 

As the N.E.W.T.s grow closer, Derek starts to go a little mad.

He color-codes his notes. Makes flash cards for each subject. Checks out a dozen books from the library and combs through the pages until the early morning, barely letting himself sleep.

Logan can handle all that, though.

It’s when Derek takes to quizzing _other_ people that it really gets annoying.

“Okay Jules, four branches of Transfiguration. Go.”

Julian sighs, “Transformation? Um…Vanishing…Conjuration?”

“That’s three.”

“…switching?”

“That’s not a thing. It’s Untransfiguration.”

“ _Untransfiguration_ , are you kidding me? That sounds fake.”

“It’s real. And it’s Vanish _ment_ , not Vanish _ing_.”

“Whatever,” Julian throws an arm over his eyes, relaxing further into the couch, “Not like I’m gonna do great on this exams, anyway.”

“You will if you pay attention. What’s Dittany most commonly used for?”

“Um…healing?”

“See, you got this.”

Derek flips to a new page of his textbook, spouting out a list of questions. Julian answers them as best he can, seeming rather unbothered when he misses one. That just seems to stress Derek out _more_ , and he moves to the harder questions.

“Oh for the love of Merlin, I don’t _care_ ,” Julian whines, after missing a particularly tricky question about the original purpose behind the formation of Department of Mysteries, “Bother Logan with these, would you?”

“Fine,” Derek flips to a new question, turning to face Logan, “This one’s about Veela. I’ll even give you the answer choices, how’s that?”

Julian snorts, “You better get this one right. I’ll be offended if you don’t.”

“Fine, hit me.”

Derek clears his throat, “Which of the following facts about Veela is false: A, their hair, when used as a wand core, results in very temperamental spellwork; B, they are a distant relative of harpies; C, they possess magic that can be used without wands; D, both male and female Veela possess equal amounts of power.”

From his position on the sofa, Julian chortles, and Derek chucks his quill at him, “Let Logan answer.”

“Fuck, um…which one’s _false_?”

“That’s what he said,” Julian sing-songs.

“Then C, I guess? They don’t have wandless magic, do they?”

Both Julian and Derek look up at him.

“They can literally seduce men into doing insane things by _existing_ ,” Derek says slowly, “That’s magic.”

“Okay, then…B?”

Julian blinks, “Logan. Which one is _false_.”

“…A?”

“Did you steal Firewhiskey from the house-elves again?” Derek asks, “It’s _D_ , Logan.”

“You said false!”

“Yes. It’s _false_ that male and female Veela possess equal amounts of power. Only the females inherit. All males get is—“

“Devastatingly good looks?” Julian says, with a slight smirk.

“And all the pompousness that comes with it.”

Logan frowns, “Males get the powers too, though? The seduction stuff? Don’t they?”

“…no. They don’t.”

“Well then explain Julian.”

Derek glances over at the brunet, “Explain…what, exactly?”

“Why _he_ has the seduction powers, if males usually don’t.”

Julian gapes at him, “Logan, I _don’t_ have any of that. I’m only a quarter, anyway, even girls with that much don’t have much power.”

“Then how come I—“

Logan cuts himself off, but the damage is done. Julian’s whole expression changes, and he sits up, eyes fixed on Logan. Derek stares, open-mouthed.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he breathes, “Oh my god, you have feelings for Jules, don’t you?”

“I…I don’t…”

“You thought he had _seductive powers_ ,” Derek continues, “It’s because you _like_ him, isn’t it? You thought it was some magic pull, but really you just have feelings.”

Julian’s still staring at him. His expression is oddly blank, and Logan feels sick.

“…I have to go,” he blurts out. He rises from his seat before either of them can stop him, darting out of the common room.

 

.

 

Logan wanders around the grounds for hours.

When it grows too chilly, he heads inside, slipping off to the library. He's sure Derek and Julian wouldn't lie to him, but he looks for a tome on Veela, anyway.

 _When male offspring are borne of those with Veela blood,_ he reads,  _they often inherit the Veela's good looks. However, full-blooded male Veela do not exist, and males do not inherit traditional Veela powers_.

Fuck.

He can't believe he's never bothered to look it up before. Can't  _believe_ he was so ignorant to believe that these feelings he has for Julian weren't born of some supernatural powers. He should have realized, really -- although Julian's been the object of affection for a handful of students throughout the years, nobody's ever seemed drawn to him against their will.

Fuck, he's so  _stupid_.

He doesn't want to go back to the common room. Doesn't want to see Derek,  _definitely_ doesn't want to see Julian. He's not sure what he'd say, what kind of excuse he can make so that this won't be horribly uncomfortable. 

But he can't hide forever.

It's late, when he returns. Well past midnight, and he doesn't expect anyone to still be awake. But Julian's there, half-asleep and draped over the same sofa Logan had left him on. He stirs when Logan walks in, rubs at his eyes and sits up.

"Hey," he says, voice hoarse with sleep, "We kinda thought you'd taken off."

"Thought about it," Logan says.

Julian smiles, a little bitterly, "Didn't think having a crush on me was  _that_ terrible."

"It's not just a crush. You want to know what I smelled, when we made Amortentia?"

"Food, you said."

"I smelled  _you_ ," Logan admits, "Coffee. Sugar quills. Rain."

"You smelled rain?"

"You smell like rain, most of the time."

Julian blinks, slowly, "So...you  _really_ like me, then?"

Logan takes a deep breath, "Jules...I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you. I thought...I didn't know, that you didn't have the same...so I thought it was just because you're part Veela, you know? That it was like a toned-down version of the crazy shit that happens around full Veela."

"But it's not."

"Evidently not," Logan can't help but laugh, "But it's not...it's fine, okay? We don't ever have to talk about it again."

"...what if I want to?"

"What if you want to what?"

"Talk about it," Julian clarifies, "You wanna know what  _I_ smelled when we made Amortentia?"

"You told me. Pumpkin pasties."

"Logan," Julian sighs, looking almost fondly amused, "I don't  _like_ pumpkin pasties."

"Don't be ridiculous, you always steal mine."

"Because they're _yours,_ you idiot. If I steal your food I get your attention for a few seconds."

"That's...you don't have to  _steal my food_ for attention."

"You want to know what else I smelled?" Julian says, ignoring him, "Broom wax. That cologne you use."

Logan can't quite believe it, "Are you saying...you smelled  _me_?"

"Yes, Logan," Julian says patiently, "I smelled a love potion, and it smelled like you."

"So...where does that leave us, then?"

Julian's  _definitely_ amused now. He rises from the sofa, strides across the room and stops just in front of Logan.

"I think," he says, raising one hand up to Logan's cheek, "That leaves us...right about... _here_."

Julian's lips press against his, and Logan inhales in surprise.

Coffee.

Sugar quills.

 _Rain_.


	12. Coffeeshop

 

“Oh look,” Derek smirks at the chime of the front door, “Your favorite customer is here again.”

Logan groans. He glances desperately around, praying that Bailey’s shown up early to take over his shift. But there’s nobody behind the counter but him and Derek, and Derek’s just been promoted to assistant manager. Which leaves just Logan on barista duty.

“Excuse me!” His not-so-favorite customer finally reaches the register, casting an annoyed glance over the top of the sunglasses he insists on wearing even indoors, “Could I get a coffee over here?”

Logan wanders over his way, pasting his customer service smile on his face, “A _real_ coffee, this time?”

“Hilarious. I want—“

“Extra large iced latte, two pumps each of white chocolate, toffee nut, and hazelnut syrups, with four shots of espresso and extra whipped cream,” Logan rattles off, already starting on the ridiculous amount of prep the drink takes.

“And—“

“Chocolate shavings, cinnamon, and caramel syrup over top. I know. That’ll be $6.25.”

A ridiculous total, for what must be a disgusting drink, but the customer always pays happily. Now, though, he hesitates.

“Could I also get—“

“Chocolate eclair?”

“No, actually,” the customer finally takes off his sunglasses, shooting Logan a bright smile, “I actually wanted to ask for a job application.”

“We aren’t hiring.”

“You have a sign in the window.”

“We already filled the opening.”

“The sign wasn’t there this morning.”

They make eye contact. The customer just stares at Logan, and Logan struggles internally over what to say. He knows the guy’s right — Derek had just put up the sign not half an hour ago, and this guy _knows_ , due to his three-latte a day habit.

“You know,” Logan says finally, “You do actually need to know a thing or two about coffee to work here.”

“Are you the one doing interviews?”

“…no.”

“Well can I talk to _that_ person, then?”

Logan sighs. He sets the now-finished drink on the counter and turns to yell into the stockroom, “Derek!”

Derek looks _thrilled_ at the prospect of a job applicant already. He pulls the customer over to a table in the corner, leans close and rattles off a series of questions. Logan does his best to eavesdrop, but a steady trickle of students from the nearby University distracts him long enough that he doesn’t even notice when the interview ends.

But he _does_ see the brunet pull his sunglasses back over his face, and calls out to him as he leaves.

“Hey! You never paid for that!”

The man grins, “You can take it out of my first paycheck.”

He steps out, and Logan turns to Derek, “No.”

“He had customer service experience. That’s already more qualified than _you_ were.”

“He’s awful.”

“You’re just biased because it takes so long to make his drink. He’s pretty funny, actually. Plus he’s good-looking, and customers love that.”

“I can’t work with him. He’s a dick.”

“Well he starts tomorrow. Your shift. So you get to train him.”

“I hate you.”

 

.

 

The man’s name is Julian, and he’s ten minutes late to his shift.

He doesn’t even seem to care, sauntering in like he already fucking owns the place. There’s an expression of mild amusement on his face as Logan goes over employee expectations, and he snaps his bubblegum as Logan walks him through their most popular drinks.

“We aren’t allowed to eat on shift,” Logan says, “Gum included. It’s not hygienic.”

Julian rolls his eyes, but spits the gum into the nearest trash can, “And are we required to scowl like we hate the world, or is that just your face?”

The door swings open before Logan can do anything rash like punch the guy in the face.

“Alright, first customer,” he says through gritted teeth, “Let’s see if you actually payed attention.”

Julian grins and bounces up to the register. It’s like his whole persona changes — he’s sunny and bright, flirting slightly and cracking some dumb joke as he rings up the customer’s order. It’s annoying, really, and Logan scowls as Julian turns away.

“What’d he order?”

“Cappucino,” Julian says, “Which is espresso, steamed milk, and…um…”

“Foam,” Logan tells him, “Steamed milk and foam.”

Julian turns to the counter, preparing the espresso machine. He fumbles a little, with the knobs and buttons, and Logan moves to help.

“It’s this one, here. While that’s brewing, you can start on the milk.”

Julian reaches for a jug.

“That one’s soy. No, that’s almond. Right. More right. That one.”

He pours milk into a container, filling it way nearly to the brim. Logan could correct him.

He doesn’t.

Instead he watches, a slight smirk on his face, as Julian froths the milk and spills half of it over the counter in the process.

“Fuck,” Julian mutters under his breath, “God, it’s all over the place.”

“You’re only supposed to fill it a third of the way or so,” Logan explains, “See that line on the side?”

“You could’ve told me that _before_.”

“You’re right. I could’ve.”

Julian glares at him, but fixes his mistake, finally creating a drink that looks cappuccino like. It’s not perfect, but he shoots a wink at the man as he passes the cup over. The man blushes a little, drops a dollar in the tip jar and leaves with his coffee.

“I’m not half bad at this, am I?”

 

.

 

Julian _is_ bad at this.

The kid can’t make a decent cup of coffee to save his life. He forgets what drinks have milk and which have foam, always adds way too much cream and sugar to otherwise normal orders. Logan explains each drink a dozen times, but Julian still doesn’t _get_ _it._

“You’re absolutely useless, aren’t you?” Logan asks one day, as yet another customer complains about burnt milk in their latte, “This isn’t even hard, how come you don’t get it?”

“Look, we all have our talents. Mine just doesn’t happen to lie in coffee-making.”

“So why would you apply to a _coffee shop_?”

Julian shrugs, “I need the money? College is expensive, and I’m a semester away from a degree in performing arts. I can’t rely on money from commercial roles, it’s not steady enough.”

“Well you’re going to have to make yourself useful in some way,” Logan tells him, “You can’t just sit in the corner and expect to get a paycheck.”

“I had an idea about that, actually.”

He looks to Logan expectantly. Logan doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking for an explanation, but Julian gives him one anyway.

“You hate customers,” he says, “I see your face when the door opens. The way you have to talk yourself out of punching people for ordering stupid drinks. It’s the way you used to look at me, before I worked here.”

“The way I still look at you.”

“Fine. Sure. Point is, you hate customers. But you like making coffee. I hate making coffee, but I like the customers.”

Logan frowns, “Your point is…?”

“We play to our strengths. I deal with the _customer_ part of customer service, you stay in the back and make coffee all day. You won’t have to talk to anyone but me.”

Logan hesitates. It doesn’t sound like the worst plan, really. Julian’s not wrong; Logan would much prefer to stay behind the counter, hidden by the machines. He’s suggested automating the process, encouraging their customers to order via app so Logan doesn’t have to deal with them face-to-face.

“That…that’s not a terrible idea,” he finally says, “So what, you’d stand up front and take orders, then just yell them back at me?”

“I could just write them down, if you’d rather not talk to me, too.”

“No, let’s try it,” Logan says, glancing up at the door as the bell over it rings, “Rest of the shift. Give it a shot. If it goes well, I’ll talk to Derek.”

 

.

 

It does go well.

 _Very_ well.

Splitting the duties makes the whole process go faster. Julian greets the customers with a wide smile, compliments their outfit or their hair as he scrawls their order onto empty cups and slides them Logan’s way. Logan starts on their order before they’ve even paid, often finishing the drink before the customer manages to drag themselves away from conversation with Julian.

As terrible as Julian is with the coffee, he’s _great_ with customers.

He knows exactly which ones to flirt with, and exactly how far to take the flirting without making them uncomfortable. Customers start flocking to the shop just _for_ Julian, hordes of teenage girls and college-aged men, of lonely mothers and frustrated businessmen. He flirts with them all equally, distracting them for the few minutes it takes Logan to make their drinks.

The tip jar fills up more than once during their joint shifts. Logan almost feels a little guilty, splitting half the profits at the end of each day. But Julian shakes that off.

“Pretty sure they wouldn’t tip as much if I actually made their coffee,” he says, “Hell, I still don’t know what an americano actually _is_ , I think I’d give them all slightly different flavored lattes.”

Even Derek is impressed by their team work.

He has to double-check his math when he adds up the quarterly profits, nearly going into shock by how much they’ve gone up since the last time. Julian and Logan get moved to the most popular shifts — weekday mornings and weekend afternoons. Neither of them have a problem with it. More customers equals more tips.

Besides, Logan doesn’t mind working the busy shifts when it’s just him mindlessly preparing coffee, humming along to the music playing over the store speakers.

Julian gets more tolerable, as the months go on. Perhaps Logan’s just grown used to his sense of humor, or maybe it’s just the fact that his annoyance levels have decreased considerably since he’s ceased having to deal with needy customers. Sometimes, it almost seems as if Julian’s _flirting_ with him.

But that would be ridiculous.

Logan raises an eyebrow at the cup Julian’s just passed him, “This is _your_ order. Nobody orders this ridiculous crap.”

“We close in fifteen minutes, and it’s pouring rain outside. Nobody’s coming in.”

Logan glances at the door, wincing a little at the torrential downpour outside, “Yeah. You’re probably right. Go ahead and lock up, alright?”

“Are you gonna make me my drink?”

“What does it _look_ like I’m doing, princess?”

Julian beams as Logan fires up the espresso machine, and he jogs to the front door to pull the lock and draw the blinds. He then grabs two pastries from the glass case, sets them both on a plate and sits at one of their tables.

Logan joins him once he’s finished the drink, setting the cup down in front of Julian. He’s added a mountain of whipped cream on top, enough that it wobbles dangerously as Julian picks it up. He takes a sip, smiling at the taste.

“Delicious.”

“It’s diabetes in a cup, is what it is.”

“Have you ever tasted it?”

“Of course not.”

Julian slides the cup across the table, and Logan grimaces.

“Try it,” he insists.

Logan’s pretty sure Julian won’t drop the subject, so he pulls the mug close, closing his eyes as he sips at the drink. It’s _good_ , actually — way too sweet for Logan to manage a whole cup of the stuff, but not nearly as terrible as he expected.

“It’s…not bad.”

“It’s fantastic. It’s like dessert, but there’s also coffee in it.”

“You used to drink three of these a _day_.”

“I did,” Julian takes the mug back, “But then I realized how damn complicated it is for you to make. So I figured it’s a special occasion drink, now.”

Logan wavers, “You don’t…I don’t _mind_ making it.”

“You used to hide behind the counter every time I walked in.”

“I thought you were a jerk.”

“And now?”

“Now?” Logan considers, “Still a jerk. Kind of an endearing one, though.”

Julian smiles. He reaches across the table, dragging one finger just over Logan’s lip.

“Whipped cream,” he explains, before licking his finger clean.

 

.

 

The job was never meant to be permanent for Julian.

It isn’t meant to be permanent for Logan, either, but he still has another year left on his Master’s program. But Julian graduates in May, and Derek almost _cries_ when Julian puts in a two-week notice.

“I’m going to Los Angeles,” Julian says later, sounding almost nervous, “One of my friends is letting me crash on his couch. I have enough money saved that I can support myself for three, four months. I’m gonna try the acting thing for real, y’know?”

Logan tries not to show how upset he is, “Well good luck. Gotta say, I’m gonna miss not having to deal with the customers.”

“It’s not that hard,” Julian tells him, “If they’re dicks, just imagine them doing super embarrassing things as soon as they leave. It’s what I do.”

He almost says something, during Julian’s last shift. There’s an odd sort of quiet tension between them, and Julian keeps glancing up at Logan like he expects something. But Logan doesn’t quite work up the courage, and Julian leaves for Los Angeles without another word.

Logan texts him, once or twice.

Stupid things, about their most annoying customers.

Julian texts back, once or twice.

Complaints about the couch he’s sleeping on. Complaints about auditions.

The texts taper off, after a while.

Then, Julian gets his big break.

Logan sees his face on a magazine cover at the check-out stand of his local grocery store. He watches the previews for the Blockbuster movie Julian had landed a major role in a dozen times. He Googles him, almost obsessively, watches the whole process behind the film’s production through grainy photos.

The movie comes out, and Logan and Derek see it together.

“I can’t believe he landed something that big on his first try,” Derek says, after, “I had no idea he was that talented.”

“I figured he would be,” Logan says.

He tries not to think about it.

Julian’s doing great, in Los Angeles. The film roles are lining up for him, and every major publication is referring to him as Hollywood’s next big star.

To Logan, though, he’s still the annoying shit who popped his bubblegum at the register. Who laughed at Logan’s stupid jokes. Who split pastries with him and proof-read Logan’s essays.

He’s thinking about Julian, when the door opens.

“We’re closed,” he calls, not bothering to glance up.

“Shame,” drawls a familiar voice, “See, I’ve really been craving an extra large iced latte. With two pumps each of white chocolate, toffee nut, and hazelnut syrups, with four shots of espresso and extra whipped cream.”

Logan turns, a wide grin on his face, “With chocolate shavings, cinnamon, and caramel drizzle?”

Julian hums, pursing his lips, “I’m not sure. You see, I’m kind of famous now. I’m supposed to be watching my figure.”

“How about I watch it for you?”

Julian’s cheeks flush, “Deal.”


	13. Personal Trainers

It's creepy, to hit on people at the gym.

Logan knows that better than anyone.

He's been a personal trainer going on four years now, and he's lost more than one client when they decided that they'd rather Logan take them to bed than show them how to properly deadlift. It's not like he's never found a client attractive, of course, but he'd much prefer to keep his work life separate from his personal life. Besides, a little less than half of his clients are women, and Logan's just not into that.

Still, despite his aversions to gym relationships, he can't help but stare at the yoga instructor.

His name is Julian, and Logan's never seen a man that flexible.

"Alright, a little lower. Deep squat, there you go. Now back up," Logan says patiently, watching his client's form, "Perfect, good job. Again."

He shifts his position, and his eyes drift to the class going on in the adjoining room. There's a dozen or so men and women in a rainbow of tight clothing, all following along with Julian as he shifts into Downward Dog. It's Logan's favorite position to watch, thanks to the sinfully tight leggings Julian insists on wearing. His ass rises into the air, and Logan's mouth falls open.

"Um, Logan?" His client chokes out, knees wobbling, "I can't...I can't get back up."

"Fuck," Logan tears his eyes away from the yoga class, grabbing the bar resting on his client's shoulders. He pulls up, and the man nearly collapses with relief, "Sorry about that. That was good, more reps than last time. Heavier weight too."

"You were staring again. At the yoga guy. You could just try asking him out."

"I wasn't staring," Logan retorts, "I was thinking, that's all."

"Well next time, would you mind only thinking about whether or not I can actually squat that much?"

"Right. Sorry."

He sends the client home, promising to give him 10% off his next session, then heads off to the locker room to shower and change. He's just pulling on clean pants when the guys from the yoga class filter in, all looking remarkably chipper. Julian's not far behind, and Logan tries not to stare as he strips off his leggings -- that he wears without  _underwear_ , Jesus -- and steps into the showers. Part of him is tempted to wait around, to maybe ask Julian how his class went. 

Instead, though, he heaves his gym bag over his shoulder and leaves.

The thing is, there's really no harm in  _talking_ to Julian. There's not even a rule against trainers dating gym employees; Julian's essentially a contractor, not actually employed by the gym itself, and only teaches a handful of classes a week. But Logan understands how uncomfortable it can be for someone to get hit on at work, and it's obvious Julian has enough of that going on anyway. There's always a gaggle of hopeful twenty-somethings hanging around after class, people flirting and doing their best to get his number. The gym's already issued a lifetime ban on one particularly forward member -- some guy named Adam, who'd attended every single one of Julian's classes for a month and then  _followed him home_.

So yeah, Logan isn't particularly motivated to approach the guy.

He does his best to stop staring.

(He fails.)

He's just trying to get his own damn workout in, focusing on keeping his back straight as he does bicep curls, but that damn yoga class is going on  _again_. This time, Julian's actually shirtless, clad in bright spandex shorts that hug the curve of his ass. Logan's not sure how anyone is actually managing to focus on moving between the positions, when  _Julian Larson_ is standing in front of them almost completely naked. Even from across the gym, Logan nearly drops a dumbbell on his foot.

"He's single, you know," Derek says from beside him, still smoothly curling a good twenty pounds heavier than Logan, "According to his Facebook, at least."

"You're  _Facebook friends_ with him?"

"Most of the other trainers are. We are kind of co-workers, after all. He was at Sydney's engagement party last month."

"Seriously? I wasn't even invited to that."

"Well yeah, that's because she doesn't like you. Point is, you don't have to completely avoid him. I know you're capable of having a conversation with a guy without totally humiliating yourself."

"I don't  _avoid_ him."

"Sure. Keep saying that," Derek re-racks his weights and smirks at Logan before heading off to the treadmills.

Logan's not avoiding him. 

Really.

(He is.)

Unfortunately for him, when he heads into the locker room after his workout he nearly knocks Julian over.

"Shit," Julian gasps, hand darting out to grab Logan's bicep as he catches his balance, "Sorry, wasn't expecting someone to come barreling in here."

"I wasn't  _barreling_ , I was walking. Like a normal person."

"Sure you were," Julian rolls his eyes, dropping his hand, "Wait, you're a trainer here, right? Logan?"

"My reputation precedes me, I see."

Julian laughs, "Your picture's up on the wall. With your name under it. Plus I see you around all the time."

"Well yeah, I work here."

"You watch my class sometimes," Julian says, and Logan's stomach drops, "You ever tried yoga before?"

"Uh, no. Not really my thing."

"Oh," Julian makes a face, "You're one of  _those_ guys."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, it's totally normal. Lots of guys think yoga's too  _girly_ , or something. What we get for living in a culture of toxic masculinity."

"I don't think it's  _girly_ ," Logan argues, "I'm perfectly secure in my masculinity, thank you. I'm just not really into spending an hour stretching when I could be lifting or running instead."

"Yoga's a lot more than just stretching."

"Still not really my thing."

"How would you know if you've never tried?" Logan doesn't really have a retort to that, and Julian grins, "One class. I teach beginner's yoga Thursdays at five."

"...I'm not going to enjoy it."

"We'll see."

It takes Logan nearly an hour to come up with something suitable to wear. He doesn't exactly go out of his way to purchase clothing specifically for yoga, and it seems that tight leggings and tank tops are the de facto uniform in Julian's class. He finally settles on a pair of maroon sweatpants and his old fencing t-shirt, figuring he'll tuck it in once class starts so he's not flashing his pecs at the room.

He gets to class a little early, and Julian beams when he steps into the room.

"I assumed you didn't have your own mat," he says, grabbing a spare one from the corner, "Unfortunately the ones the gym provides are a little thin, but we won't be doing anything too crazy today so you should be fine. Since this is your first time, don't strain yourself too hard, okay? If you need to drop out of a pose, it's fine. I don't judge. Not when it comes to yoga, anyway."

"It's a beginners class," Logan says, holding back an eye roll, "I'm in pretty good shape. I think I'll be fine."

(Logan's not fine.)

For a beginner's class, this is ridiculously hard. The poses that had looked so simple from the other side of the gym wind up straining Logan's muscles in a way he's never felt before, and he  _aches_. Julian drifts around the room more, for the beginner's class, murmuring soft words of encouragement as he goes. When he reaches Logan's mat, he smiles knowingly, bends down to help.

"Try just grabbing your calves, if your ankles are too hard," he suggests, resting one palm on Logan's spine to help straighten it, "See, that's not too bad right?"

"I hate you," Logan mutters under his breath, and Julian just grins.

"Okay, now drift down into corpse pose. Close your eyes, focus on your breathing."

Julian talks gently as the class relaxes, counting slowly and encouraging them to  _inhale through your nose, now exhale through your mouth_.

Logan's so exhausted by the end he almost falls asleep in the final pose, only snapping his eyes open when the others around him start to gather up their things. Julian drifts back his way, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"So? As easy as you thought?"

"Not exactly," Logan says, "Apparently I'm a lot less flexible than I thought."

Julian laughs, "Don't beat yourself up over it. A lot of guys don't focus much on flexibility. I've seen way worse than you, believe me."

"I fell over in tree pose."

"You did. I had to try really hard not to laugh."

"That woman in front of me looked like she wanted to murder me."

"Who, Tabitha? That's just her face, I think."

"Seriously, you didn't even do any of the cool shit," Logan continues, "That stuff where you like, balance your whole body on your elbows?"

"Crow pose?" Julian drops to the floor, smoothly transitioning into said pose, "It takes a while to work up to it. It's balance, mostly."

He drops out of it, smoothly rising to his feet once more.

"Well, good on you. Pretty sure my body's not really built for that kind of thing."

"That's fine. I can't do most of the heavy lifting you can. My biceps are never going to look like that."

He eyes Logan's arms, and Logan smirks, "You check out my biceps?"

"Please, like you haven't been staring at my ass through that window for the past three months."

Logan nearly chokes, "I wasn't..."

"Well it obviously wasn't that you were interested in the class."

"...I didn't think you noticed."

"Well I did," Julian says, folding his arms over his chest, "I was kind of waiting for you to ask for my number, or something."

"Thought it'd be weird, hitting on you at work."

Julian glances at his watch, "Technically, my class ended three minutes ago. I'm not getting paid right now, so I'm not really at work, am I?"

Logan grins, "Guess not."

"So...?"

"So do you think I could get your number?"

"You  _could_ ," Julian says slowly, "Or we could change right now. Maybe grab a drink?"

"I don't put out on the first date, just so you know."

"We'll see. I might be able to convince you."

"You won't."

(He does.)


	14. Hospital Patient!Julian

He’d lucked out with his sentence. He knows he’d been lucky, that the Tipton’s legal team had been fighting for juvie. He’s sure his father pulled some strings with the judge, for him to be saddled with ten months of community service instead of any _real_ punishment.

Still, he can tell from his very first day in the hospital that this probably isn’t going to go well.

The woman running the program is stern, lectures Logan for ten straight minutes about being on time for his shifts. It’s not like he even has a choice, really - if he doesn’t show, his community service officer will be notified, and he’ll be dragged in front of the judge once again for a more severe sentence. He doesn’t even want to imagine what his father will do, if he screws this up.

So he shows up on time, six in the morning, three days a week. He hauls clean towels to hospital rooms, changes dirty sheets covered in identifiable bodily fluids, brings trays of plastic-wrapped food to patients in the hall he’s been assigned to. It’s disgusting work, to be honest, and Logan would much rather be stuck on the side of a highway picking up garbage.

 _“It’s demeaning, Logan,”_ his father had spat, _“If anyone saw my son scooping up empty beer cans? At least we can swing this as you doing charity work_.”

He can deal.

He _can_.

It’s less than a year.

He deserves it, really, after what he’s done.

Still, he can’t help but resent his life each time his alarm goes off, as he walks the three blocks to the hospital and changes into the sterile uniform he’s forced to wear.

He’s still changing the sheets when they bring the boy in.

Two nurses wheel him in on a stretcher, talking amongst themselves. It’s a little rude, Logan thinks, until he notices the sheer amount of machines the boy’s hooked up to. He’s completely unconscious, unaware of the gossiping going on right over his head.

“New patient,” one of the nurses says, catching Logan’s eyes, “Transfer from St. Mary’s. I have a feeling he’ll be here for a while.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Did you hear about the building that caught on fire last month? He’s one of the survivor’s. St. Mary’s doesn’t have the capacity for long-term patients at the moment, so his family had him transferred here.”

“Is he in a coma?” Logan asks, frowning at the prone body on the stretcher.

The second nurse nods, “Poor dear. No change in his condition in weeks. Hopefully Dr. Edwards can work another one of her miracles.”

They move him towards the bed, and Logan watches as the two small women stare down at the boy’s body. He doesn’t look heavy, by any means, but they’re both fairly petite, and he’s at least six feet tall. Logan moves toward them, taking the brunt of the boy’s weight as he helps them maneuver him onto the bed. He watches as they arrange the tubing and wires attached to his body, as one of the nurses pulls the blankets up and around his chest, folding the boy’s arms over his chest.

Logan isn’t quite sure what is is. Maybe it’s the uncertainty of what’s going to happen to the boy, the instability of coma patients. Maybe it’s that he’s roughly the same age as Logan, that Logan’s been complaining about having to do his community service while this boy had nearly _died_. Maybe it’s the boy’s face — beautiful, serene and still and almost sad.

“His name is Julian,” one of the nurses says, catching him staring, “He’s seventeen. I know most people think it’s crazy, but I for one think that talking to coma patients helps. You could try it, while you’re making your rounds in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Logan turns away from the bed, gathering up the dirty sheets and adding them to his cart, “Maybe.”

Two days later, Logan’s once again wheeling his cart down the halls of the hospital. He delivers breakfast, changes the sheets on empty beds, adds fresh towels to the en-suite bathrooms. When he reaches Julian’s room, he hesitates. The boy doesn’t need breakfast, of course, his IV bags are meant to provide all the nutrients he needs. Still, he feels a little bad, neglecting the room. He steps inside, a little hesitant. It’s a little dark; the curtains must’ve been drawn by the night nurse, and Logan strides across the room to throw them open.

It sends sunlight streaming into the room, and Logan turns to look at Julian.

He’s oddly disappointed, when there’s no change.

It’s not like he’d been expecting a miracle — that he’d open the windows and the sunlight would rouse Julian. Still, he moves closer to the bed, peering curiously at Julian’s sleeping face.

“…Mindy said you might be able to hear me,” he says, “It um…feels kinda weird, talking to you? I’m Logan, by the way. I volunteer here. Kind of. I was forced, really.”

He winces, but Julian doesn’t stir.

“I got in a fight. A pretty bad one. This is um…community service.”

He’s not sure why he’s talking so much. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t really have any friends around. Derek’s done his best to stay in contact, of course, but it’s a lot harder now that Logan’s been expelled. Talking, even to someone who can’t actually listen, feels _nice_.

“I’m sorry. About what happened to you. For what it’s worth, you’re still a total babe. No crazy burn scars, or anything. You just look like you’re…sleeping.”

For a moment, he just stares. Julian really is beautiful, the kind of face Logan would spot across a crowded room and immediately set his sights on. He wonders what his eyes look like, if they’re light like Logan’s or if they match the chestnut brown of Julian’s wavy hair. Logan reaches forward, moving Julian’s hands from the unnatural looking clasp over his chest. He shifts them down a little, moves one arm to rest beside him and the other on his stomach.

“…I hope that’s okay. It just looked kind of uncomfortable? I’m not sure how much you can actually feel…”

He stops, suddenly feeling a little foolish.

“Anyway, I hope you feel better. Or…wake up soon, I guess? Bye.”

It becomes an odd ritual of Logan’s.

Julian’s room is at the end of the hall, the last patient on Logan’s shift. There’s never much to do, for Julian’s room. His sheets get changed on the evening shift, after the sponge baths he gets from the afternoon staff. Logan only has to change the towels in his room a few times a week, when it’s obvious his parents had been visiting.

Regardless of the lack of work, Logan still stops by Julian’s room each shift. He’ll open the blinds in the morning, fluff the pillows a little under Julian’s head. Talk to him, more as a way to entertain himself than anything.

“You know, you’re my easiest patient. The only one who can’t complain about me bringing you the wrong Jell-O flavor. Or bitch about my hair’s too long. Or that I should be in school. I _should_ be, obviously, but I kind of got expelled. My dad tried to get me into another pretentious prep school, but with my disciplinary record nobody wants me around. I’m gonna wind up finishing school by correspondence, I guess.”

He sighs, leans down to pull Julian’s blankets a little further up his chest. It’s a little chilly in the room, and the boy’s slim body seems to grow slimmer by the day.

“Guess I shouldn’t really be complaining to you though, hm? I mean, you definitely have it way worse. I looked at your chart. I don’t understand parts of it, but it looks like you’re okay? Like they don’t really know why you aren’t waking up? Maybe…maybe you just need to try a little harder, you know? Try to force your eyes open?”

Logan looks down, almost hopefully. But Julian still doesn’t budge. His eyes remain resolutely closed, his hands still clasped in that odd position the nurses always leave him in. Logan moves them, yet again, this time simply shifting them down over his stomach.

There’s a sudden movement at the door, and Logan glances up to see a slim blonde woman stepping in. She narrows her eyes a little.

“Are you one of his nurses?” She asks, walking across the room to settle into the chair by Julian’s bed, “Did something happen?”

“Oh, no, I’m just a volunteer,” Logan says, backing away, “I can go get a nurse for you, if you’d like?”

“Please,” the woman’s voice is firm, but then she turns to Julian. Her whole face softens a little, and she takes one of his hands in both of her own. It must be his mother, Logan thinks.

He leaves them to their privacy, flagging down the head nurse before he wheels his cart back down the hallway.

It’s almost like he’s using Julian as a therapist.

Maybe a little fucked up, but it makes Logan feel better.

He bitches about his dad. About his correspondence work. Talks about missing Derek. About missing fencing and Warblers. Sometimes he talks about current events in the news, just in case Julian _can_ hear.

“I’m not sure if you keep up with celebrity gossip, but apparently some guy named Cameron Pike has a sister who’s a patient here? The nurses talk about it all the time. I guess it’s really hush-hush, but he’s here visiting a lot and half the staff has a crush on him. Oh, and you’ll never believe who’s running for President…”

Sometimes he _doesn’t_ talk. He’s never been a morning person, so some mornings he’s just too tired to make conversation. He’ll still throw open Julian’s blinds, adjust his hands on the bed, sometimes picks out the dying flowers in the bouquets that keep getting sent to his room. He has a lot of friends, it seems, judging by the constant display of flowers and cards that keep getting left in the room. He’s read most of them to Julian, careful to note who’d sent what and added what message.

“Someone named Clark sent sunflowers,” he says, today, “With a card that says the boys all miss you. They’re pretty. Here, I’ll put them by your bed.”

He moves them to the nightstand, holding the vase carefully as he sets it down. Something catches his eye, and he turns.

Julian’s hand is twitching on his chest. Not his whole hand, really — just a single finger, moving slightly against the blankets. It stills momentarily, then moves again, a little more this time.

“…Julian?”

Logan reaches out, resting his own hand gingerly against Julian’s hand. The finger twitches for just a moment more, then goes still. Julian’s machines are still beeping steadily, his eyes still closed.

“Julian, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Logan stands there for a moment, almost in shock. He finally pulls himself away, jogs into the hall to find a nurse. Kristen’s in the room just next door, and steps inside to check on him. She takes a look at the readouts on the machines, pulls back his eyelids and checks for movement.

“It may have just been a nerve synapse firing,” she says, “But I’ll let the doctor know. He could…maybe…be waking up.”

Logan’s never been unhappy about having a day off, before.

But Julian moves on Friday, and Logan’s next shift isn’t until Monday.

He’s antsy all weekend, wondering what he’ll see when he goes in next. If Julian will be awake, if he’ll be talking. He speeds through the rest of his rooms Monday morning, heads into Julian’s with an expectant grin.

And finds Julian still, eyes closed, laying in the same position Logan’s grown accustomed to. He can feel the disappointment wash over his body, the hopeful bubble in his chest burst.

“…thought you might’ve woken up over the weekend,” he says, as he moves to the window, “I know they said it might’ve just been a nerve, or something, but it really looked intentional.”

He pulls the curtains back and moves toward the bed, actually taking a seat beside the bed, this time.

“I think we could be friends, is that weird?” He says, “I mean, I know I don’t really _know_ you, but it’s just this feeling. It’d still be really nice if you woke up, though. I feel like you’d be funny.”

He’s suddenly overcome with the inexplicable desire to take Julian’s hand. There’s nobody around, and Julian’s still unconscious, so he does it, lifting one of Julian’s limp hands into his own.

“I don’t really have that many friends,” he admits, “I mean, I have Derek. But he’s still back at school, you know? He texts me, and he says he’s gonna visit over break, but it’s not the same. Of course, it kind of seems like you have plenty, with all the flowers you get. Pretty sure you don’t really need another one. But if you do…”

The words sound stupid, even to him. He sighs, moves to stand, and then freezes at the sensation of a light pressure on his hand.

It’s barely noticeable, really, just the slightest squeeze of Julian’s hand against his. But it’s _there_.

“I can feel that,” he breathes, “Are you…this is on purpose, right? You’re trying to do this?”

Another soft squeeze. Logan laughs, a soft, airy noise, and squeezes back.

“You can do this, okay? You can wake up. I know you can.”

There’s one more squeeze, and then Julian’s hand goes still. Logan waits for a few minutes, still murmuring words of encouragement. But Julian doesn’t move again, and he eventually has to give up.

Obviously, he’s not waking up today.

When Logan comes in for his next shift, one of the nurses intercepts him, a wide grin on her face.

"He made a sound last night," she says, "Julian. Not really a word or anything, but a definite sound. The doctor says he's finally waking up."

"Is there...should I do anything different?"

"No," she shakes her head, "Just keep talking to him. We're all trying. His parents are coming in later, but right now the best thing is just to encourage him."

Logan wheels his cart even faster than normal.

He ignores the complaints about the food from his other patients, speeds through changing towels and sheets and heads into Julian's room.

He opens the curtains, sits beside the bed, and takes Julian's hand.

"They said you tried to talk," he says, "I'm kinda curious what you were trying to say. Think you could try for me?"

Logan waits a beat, but Julian doesn't budge.

"Alright, that's fine. Maybe you're not a morning person, either. I'm kind of curious what your voice sounds like, though. I kind of imagine you talking back to me, sometimes. God, that's fucking weird, isn't it? That I imagine conversations with a coma patient?"

He laughs a little.

"Um...I don't really know what to say to you. I don't have any new news since last time. Do you...what kind of music do you like?"

He pulls his phone from his pocket, opens his Spotify app and clicks on his favorite playlist.

"That's a stupid question, I know. You can't answer me. This song's new, though, and I really like it."

He presses play, hums softly along to the instrumental intro. He sets his phone on the nightstand, takes Julian's hand again as the music plays. He finds himself singing along, quietly, then louder as he gets into the music. 

In fact, he's so into the song that he almost doesn't notice Julian's eyes open.

"... _sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home--_ ohmygod."

He jerks upright, eyes wide as he stares down at the deep brown of Julian's irises. He isn't quite focusing on anything, his eyes fixed somewhere in front of him. Logan moves closer, squeezes his hand tightly.

"Julian? Hey, can you hear me?"

The eyes flicker just a little to the side, somewhere in Logan's general direction.

" _Julian?_ "

There's a startled noise from the doorway, and the same woman from before rushes in, dropping heavily onto the side of the bed as she reaches for her son.

"Oh my god," she sobs, hands clasping at his, " _Baby..._ "

Logan slips out of his chair, helping Julian's mom into it instead. She's crying, hard, and Julian's eyes are still open.

He leaves the room, grabs the first doctor he can find, "Julian's awake. Actually awake."

The stream of visitors starts not half an hour later. Logan recognizes an older man he's seen a few times, someone he can only assume is Julian's dad. A few younger teenagers, both boys and girls, all with wide grins on their faces as they slip into the room.

All people who know Julian.

For real.

Logan wraps up his work, wheels his cart back down the hall, and leaves.

He skips his next shift.

He isn't sure  _why_ , exactly. It doesn't make sense that he'd feel so awkward seeing Julian again, feel weird going back now that the boy's awake. But he  _does_ , so he calls in sick, claiming a nasty head cold.

But he can't play sick forever, and when Monday rolls around again he's back wheeling his cart through the hallways.

He's so lost in his routine, in fact, that the voice takes him by surprise as he opens Julian's curtains.

"Hey," Julian croaks hoarsely, "Who're you?"

Logan turns, eyes wide. Julian looks a little sleepy, like he'd been dreaming when Logan had woken him with sunlight.

"Shit, sorry, I'm not used to you being...you know..."

"Awake? Alive?"

"...yeah. I'm um...just a volunteer. Logan."

"Oh," Julian frowns a minute, like he's trying to remember something, "Did you sing to me?"

Logan rubs at the back of his neck, "I...yeah, I did."

"You talked, too."

"I did. I didn't think you could hear me."

"Your dad's a _dick_."

It sounds ridiculous, for some reason; that of all the things Logan had said, his complaints about his father are the one thing Julian had latched on to, the one thing he remembers. He actually  _laughs_ , a full-bellied chortle that has Julian's lips quirking.

"I complained about him a lot, yeah. Sorry about that."

"No. It was nice. Nobody else talked much."

"Oh," Logan's smile fades, "I thought they would. I figured..."

"Guess they thought it was weird," Julian shrugs, then winces at the movement, "The last doctor told my mom I might never wake up."

"But you did."

"Yeah. Kind of stubborn, you know."

"Yeah," Logan says, "Me too."

Julian smiles. It's a nice smile. He has dimples.

"I...should probably go get you breakfast, I guess. Are you...I mean, can you eat, now?"

"A little," Julian admits, "Soft things, you know?"

"Okay. Well I'll see what I can find. I'll be back in a few, okay?"

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

"Just...for the record, I think we could be friends, too."

Logan hesitates. He's half-wondering if Julian's just being nice, just humoring him after hearing all of Logan's secrets over the past few weeks. But he looks honest, that small smile still on his face and his eyes sleepy.

"Well. Let's start with breakfast and see how it goes. Deal?"

"Deal."


	15. Pen Pals

_New Message from Julipop!_

Logan smiles when the notification pops up. He's not going to read it now, in the middle of his International Politics lecture, but the knowledge that the message is there and waiting makes the next twenty minutes of dry classroom instruction a little more tolerable. When his professor finally releases them -- seven whole minutes late -- he grabs his bag and darts from the room, heads to the quad and finds an empty stone bench to park himself at. He takes a deep breath before opening up the message.

> _God, I totally know what you mean. I mean, my parents aren't nearly as bad as your father, but they definitely have all these expectations for how they think my life should go, and sometimes I feel like it doesn't even matter if I'm happy, you know? Like, their own image matters more than how I feel about things._
> 
> _Anyway, I don't mean to detract from all the bullshit from your dad, because that's honestly ridiculous. I know you said you kinda have to listen to him because he's paying for your school, but have you looked into financial aid or anything? Because I bet not relying on him for your tuition would help out a lot. You could take those music classes without worrying about what he thinks._
> 
> _I'd probably have more advice, but I'm kind of in a rush right now. I have that audition for that community theatre thing I was telling you about, and I'm actually gonna throw up I'm so nervous. I'll let you know how it goes!_

Despite the brevity of the message, it somehow makes Logan's day a lot better. He taps out a response, checking his watch to make sure he's not late for his Economics lecture. He's got a good twenty minutes left, and his class is in the building just in front of him, so he tries to address each part of Julipop's message.

Sometimes when he thinks about it too hard, it's a little weird -- he doesn't have any real friends at school yet, nobody he really hangs out with other than his study groups and the guys in his acapella group. He still talks to Derek, of course, but going to different colleges had made things a little more difficult. He'd found the message board during a night of alcohol-induced loneliness, after Googling such cheerful things as  _how do you make friends as an adult_ and  _how can I stop feeling lonely all the time_. A lot of the posts had made him feel even worse, messages from people in their thirties and forties who claimed they hadn't made friends since high school. But then Logan had found a post he identified so strongly with. The user, using the penname  _Julipop_ , had written about his struggles finding friends after high school, how he had people to hang out with but nobody that he really connected with. Logan had messaged the writer drunkenly, then passed out on his twin bed and promptly forgotten the message.

Waking up to a response had been a little humiliating, to say the least. But Julipop's reply had been fondly amused more than anything, and he'd linked Logan to a hangover cure that wound up working miracles. They'd been messaging a few times a week ever since then. Julipop's messages are sometimes the only thing that helps Logan get through the day. It's almost therapeutic, having someone to message about his problems like this.

He makes sure the message sends - the app they use can be a little twitchy - and pockets his phone before heading off to his next class.

 

.

 

 Julian doesn't get stage fright.

He doesn't.

Once he's actually  _on_ stage, he feels great. Something about the lights, about the eerie silence that fills the room as he steps forward, about the feel of everyone's eyes on him - it's like he comes to life. He's never felt this way before, and he  _craves_ the adrenaline rush that acting brings him.

So no, he doesn't get stage fright.

He  _does_ , however, get what he likes to call "audition anxiety". It kicks in during the horribly uncomfortable waiting time, when he has nothing to do but sit and wait for his name to be called. He tries a dozen different techniques to relieve it: meditation, crocheting, yoga, doodling. Nothing helps. He taps his fingers against his leg, ties and re-ties his shoes, tries to fluff up his hair a little where it's fallen in the middle.

His phone buzzes, and Julian looks up at the line before glancing at it. He's still got three or four people in front of him, so he probably has time to send a couple texts.

It's not a text, though.

_New Message from TheWrightOne!_

His nausea subsides, and he taps the notification.

> _I totally feel you with the image thing. I don't even know if I like politics, you know? But my whole family's done it for generations, and since I'm my dad's only kid I feel like I'm letting down the whole family tree by not doing it. Dad's always dragging me to all this events to show off our "happy perfect family", but sometimes it feels like he wish he had a totally different kid._
> 
> _I have looked into financial aid, actually, but I don't qualify for any need-based scholarships because my family's kind of ridiculously wealthy. My grades aren't quite good enough to get any academic scholarships,_ _unfortunately. Downsides of being the one apathetic student at an Ivy League where everyone's gunning for valedictorian. There is this piano performance scholarship I'm looking into, but I feel like they'd rather give it to a music major, and I wouldn't be able to switch majors unless I already knew I got it. Is that a catch-22?_
> 
> _Good luck on your audition! I know it sounds like bullshit because I've never seen you act, but I'm sure you'll do great. You've been practicing forever, and you actually did research (which, sidenote, I didn't know was a thing actors did? I mean it made sense when you explained it, but I guess I never really thought of acting needing a bunch of background work) so you definitely have a step up on other people._
> 
> _Hell, if you get it, maybe I'll take a trip out to California to see you during my fall break. We've been talking about meeting, right? :)_

Julian's breath catches.

He reads the last line once, twice, three times. 

It's absurd, how excited he is at the idea of actually meeting the guy he's been messaging the past few months. He doesn't even know that much about him, really, not even his  _name_. He knows the guy's a freshman at some Ivy League school on the East Coast, that he comes from a wealthy political family, that he plays piano and sings in an acapella group. But he doesn't even know the guy's actual name, and for all he knows, it could be some horrific catfish scenario.

"Next - Julian Larson?"

But he can't think about that now.

Now, he has an audition to crush.

 

.

 

Logan gets a B- on his Constitutional Law essay.

It shouldn't be a big deal. It's not even a bad grade, really. Except his professor is a friend of the Senator, and so Logan gets a  _very_ heated "I'm disappointed in you" phone call before he even sees the grade.

"You have a legacy to uphold!"

"You don't think your campaign opponents will find a way to publish your transcripts?"

"How are you going to promise to uphold the constitution if you can't  _understand_ the constitution?"

He tunes out most of the call. It's not a huge surprise, to be honest; he'd all but forgotten about the paper until the night before it was due, had written it in four hours with the assistance of a large pot of coffee and late-night food delivery. The grade is better than he anticipated, really.

Still not good enough for John, though.

Nothing ever is.

His phone chimes just seconds after he finally hangs up, and he almost doesn't check it for fear of seeing a follow up  _you've failed our family_ message. But the notification isn't a text, and he looks closer.

 _New Message from Julipop_!

> _Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god._
> 
> _I GOT IT_
> 
> _I actually GOT THE PART_
> 
> _I know it doesn't sound like a huge deal, because it's "just" community theatre or whatever, but it's LOS ANGELES community theatre. Like, sometimes casting agents and publicists and stuff show up to shows looking for people with talent, and I know it's a long shot that it'd even happen, and an even longer shot that they'd pick me._
> 
> _But I got a LEAD ROLE. I didn't tell you what it was, because I know you're into music and I figured you'd judge me for trying out for something so big, but it's a musical. Next to Normal, if you've heard of it? I'm playing Gabe, which is like, HUGE._
> 
> _Oh man, I'm sorry this message is kind of all over the place. I'm just really crazy excited about this. It's gonna be a couple of months of really difficult rehearsals and stuff, but I'm honestly shaking I'm so excited._
> 
> _Anyway. Ugh, sorry this is all about me. You should totally go for the piano scholarship. I mean, the worst that can happen is that you don't get extra money, right? Plus I'm sure if you explain that you want to be a music major but can't without the scholarship, they'll understand. Maybe? I gotta say, I don't really know much about college._

Somehow, Logan feels just as excited as Julipop must. He does know the musical, actually. Next to Normal isn't his favorite, but it's pretty damn good. And for Julipop to have landed the part of Gabriel? He must be a good singer as well as an actor. Logan's curious, honestly, but they've gone this long without sharing pictures, so he figures asking for a video of the man singing might be a little weird. 

He responds quickly, trying to show his excitement. It's a huge deal, getting cast in something like this, and he's honestly really proud of him.

Once he sets his phone down though, he feels a little empty.

He wants to be this excited about something in his life. He's never felt that kind of enthusiasm over  _politics_ , never been giddy over the thought of running a campaign or winning an election. In fact, the only time he has felt that good...

He glances at the electric keyboard in the corner of his dorm. It's been gathering dust this past semester, neglected in favor of finishing schoolwork he doesn't actually want to do. Logan moves to it, presses his fingers lightly over the keys and plays a single chord. The notes hum through the room, and Logan can't help but smile softly. He picks the whole thing up, blowing the dust off the keys and setting it down at the foot of his bed. He sits cross-legged in front of it, opens his tablet and types in the URL for his favorite sheet music website. He doesn't hesitate searching for a piece.

_Next to Normal Score_

 

_._

 

_New Message from TheWrightOne!_

Julian sees the notification as he walks into rehearsal. He doesn't have time to read it, and he's so busy for the next few hours that he doesn't even have time to think about it. Rehearsal is exhausting, but absolutely exhilarating. He tries to pay attention to even the parts that don't include him, absorbs the advice the director gives to every single cast member. He'd spent the whole night watching every video he could find from the original Broadway production, fixating on all the different mannerisms of his character. He's still trying to lock in his own interpretation, of course -- he doesn't want to play the character exactly as Aaron Tveit had, wants to find a way to put his own spin on the thing. 

After rehearsal, while everyone else is filing out and chattering amongst themselves, Julian approaches the director, asks her exactly what she expects and how much liberty he's going to get with his performance. She seems impressed with his dedication, actually sits with him for nearly an hour going over her ideas and his, suggesting other performances she thinks he should watch. Julian absorbs it all, takes notes and eagerly agrees to everything.

By the time he actually opens the message, it's nearly six hours old. It's the longest he's ever waited to open one of the messages, and he almost feels guilty about it.

> _Next to Normal is amazing, I'm so happy for you! You totally get the best songs in the thing. I didn't even know you could sing, you never told me that. And you made fun of ME for being in an acapella group. Dick._
> 
> _I think you kind of inspired me, you know? If you can audition for something that big, then why shouldn't I give this piano scholarship a shot? It's not even as major as yours, I only have to play in front of the music faculty, and it's only like three judges or something. So I think I'm gonna do it. I haven't played in a while, but the scholarship application isn't due until the end of the semester, so I have some time. I think I'm gonna have to go big though, since they don't know me yet. I'm thinking "La Campallena", maybe? I'm definitely going to need some of your advice in auditioning, though._
> 
> _Would you be okay with me visiting to see your performance? You didn't really respond to that after my last message, but I'd love to meet you. If not it's totally cool, I'm sure someone will film at least part of it and put it on Youtube._

Julian smiles. He hadn't realized he didn't respond to the visitation request, actually. He'd been so excited about the successful audition that he'd fired off a response without really thinking. But he does like the idea. He's developed an odd little crush on this guy. It's absurd, of course. He's never met him in person, has no idea what he looks like. But he's so easy to talk to, and he's somehow given Julian more support and encouragement than anybody else in his life. 

So he responds in the affirmative, telling TheWrightOne he'd love to meet in person. He gives the dates for the performances, suggesting that he attend one of the later dates, when they've worked out all the kinks in the performance. He has a futon in his apartment, he says, and he wouldn't mind terribly if the guy wants to crash at his place for a few days. He can show him Los Angeles, after all. 

It's an exciting thought, meeting his internet friend in real life. He's more excited at the prospect of this guy showing up to a performance more than his actual parents, as crazy as it sounds.

He sends the message and finally drives home, ready for another long night of role research.

 

.

 

_New Message from Julipop!_

The message pops up just as Logan's sitting down to his piano. He hesitates at the notification, but he's feeling truly inspired for the first time in months, so he sets his phone aside in favor of practicing. He's a little rusty on some of the more complicated etudes - the _Next to Normal_  score hadn't been so challenging, but some of the Rachmaninoff pieces he'd once had memorized prove a little difficult. He finally turns to the song he's considering for his audition, taking it in small sections and not moving on until he feels good about it. He plays for  _hours_ , lets his fingers get re-acquainted with the instrument. He doesn't let himself stop until his wrists are aching, and even then he takes a few minutes to mark the more difficult sections and leave himself notes in the margins of the sheet music.

Finally, once he's had enough, he rises from his bench, grabs his phone and dives onto his bed. The notification from Julipop has vanished, oddly, and he frowns as he unlocks his phone and scrolls to the app. When he taps it, it doesn't open. He tries again, then tries deleting the app and re-installing it. But when he searches for it in the App Store, nothing shows up.

Weird.

He opens his computer instead, typing in the URL for the actual website.

His heart drops.

Instead of the familiar row of message boards, there's a single banner across the page.

_We're Sorry!_

_Due to unforeseen financial circumstances, this site has been permanently shut down._

_For your security, all user data has been purged._

_We thank you for your many years of support._

"No," Logan mutters, "No,  _fuck_ , no."

He refreshes the page a half-dozen times, but nothing new happens. He runs a google search for the website, finds a single article discussing the poor financial model of the site, how its downfall should've been obvious for years.

He tries searching other social media sites for "Julipop". Twitter leads him to some 14-year-old girl in Brazil, Instagram to a 30-year-old woman. Nothing shows him a twenty-something man from Los Angeles.

Fuck.

If he'd ever even  _considered_ the site shutting down, he would've found another way to contact Julipop. Gotten an e-mail address, a Facebook, a fucking  _Tumblr_. But he'd assumed he'd be fine, that they could continue to communicate until they finally had the change to meet in person.

Now he doesn't even know if Julipop had agreed to meet in person.

But it's all Logan has.

He searches next for a  _Next to Normal_ production in Los Angeles, finds one community theatre group putting the play on in two months' time. Tickets aren't for sale yet, but he sets up an email alert, uses up his airline miles to buy a ticket to Los Angeles.

It's a little desperate.

A little pathetic.

But it's all he has.

 

.

 

_We're Sorry!_

_Due to unforeseen financial circumstances, this site has been permanently shut down._

_For your security, all user data has been purged._

_We thank you for your many years of support._

Julian feels sick.

He's not sure how long the site has been shut down.

He's been so busy with rehearsals and research that it had taken him three whole days to realize TheWrightOne never responded to his message. He'd gone to the website to see if his last message had failed to send for some reason, had been fucking body slammed by the notification of the site shutting down.

He doesn't know what to do.

They haven't shared any other contact information. He doesn't know the guy's real name, doesn't know how to begin searching for him on any other social media site.

He feels empty.

Rehearsal goes by in a dull haze. The director flat-out asks if he's okay, suggests that he maybe try to get a full night of sleep for once. But Julian can't sleep. He tosses and turns all night, agonizing over losing the one person he feels he can openly talk to. 

He tries to get over it.

The musical gives him something to work for. Something to be excited about, to actually care about. He tentatively starts talking to the rest of the cast. They've all formed friendships within themselves, but Julian's been so fixated on perfecting his role that he hasn't bothered to talk to them outside of rehearsing. But Clark Sawyer, who's playing Henry, is nice enough, and he actually invites Julian to the bowling outing the rest of them have planned.

It's nice.

Still, part of him misses his internet penpal, the guy he's been sending angst-filled messages to for months, the first person he told about the audition.

But soon enough, opening night rolls around, and Julian has something else to think about.

There's so many people in the audience. At least four agents, the director had said, and Julian peers past the curtain to see if he can pick them out.

The moment the opening notes of the prelude start, his anxiety melts away. He has a job to do. A character to perform. An audience to make cry.

He honestly doesn't remember a single minute of the production. It's like he  _becomes_ Gabe, like Julian Larson melts away to turn into this angsty, manipulative teenage boy. He's in a blissful haze, after, barely hears the director when she says something about him getting a standing ovation after  _I'm Alive_ , barely notices his fellow cast members sharing hugs and high fives.

He only comes to when he hears a tentative voice behind him, calling a name he hasn't shared with anyone.

"...Julipop?"

He turns, comes face-to-face with one of the most  _beautiful_ people he's ever seen. The man's a little taller than him, with perfectly coifed blonde hair and piercing green eyes, a full bouquet of colorful flowers held in his  _very nice_ arms.

It can't be TheWrightOne. There's no way his internet friend, who'd he bonded with over the most pathetic lonely thoughts, is  _this_ mind-blowingly attractive. 

"Hey," the guy continues, a small smile on his face, "I know you never really got back to me about visiting. And I can totally leave after this. But the site shut down before I got to read your response, and all I knew about you was that you were performing in this, and so I looked it up...I didn't know for sure until I saw the playbill, but your name being Julian kind of made sense, with your username..."

He trails off, looking a little unsure. Julian's still staring, slightly open-mouthed.

"I..are those for me?" he finally asks, stupidly.

The guy looks down at the flowers in his hands, "Oh. Yes, sorry. Here you go. You were...amazing, by the way. Wow."

Julian takes the bouquet. His hands are shaking, "You're um...actually here. Wow."

"Is that weird?"

"A little. Good weird, though."

He smiles wider, "Good. I uh...I gotta say, I didn't really expect you to be so...pretty."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I'm Logan, by the way. Logan Wright."

"Julian Larson. But I guess you figured that out."

"I did, yeah."

"Um," Julian glances at the cast, still excitedly hugging their own family and friends, "I'm kind of supposed to go to this cast pizza party, right now..."

"That's fine," Logan says, though he looks just the slightest bit disappointed, "I just wanted to congratulate you, you know? Maybe see if you wanted to exchange phone numbers. Or e-mail addresses. Twitter handles."

"Actually I..." Julian looks down at the flowers, then back to Logan, "I'm not feeling pizza, really. Do you want to go get ice cream, or something?"

Logan positively beams, and Julian pulls away long enough to tell the rest of the cast to go on without him. Clark gives him an understanding smile. Natalie (who plays Diana) and Diana (who plays Natalie) both eye Logan, giving Julian impressed thumbs-up. Once he's made his excuses he heads back to Logan, stopping only when the director grabs his arm.

"Julian," she says eagerly, "I have an agent here from WME, and she's  _dying_ to meet you!"

He glances at Logan, who just smiles, "Go ahead. I flew all the way here, I can wait ten minutes."

"You sure?"

"Trust me. I'm not going anywhere."


	16. Models

Modeling isn't exactly what Julian wants to spend the rest of his life doing.

He doesn't  _dislike_ it, per say, it's just that his ultimate goals lie elsewhere. He's know since he was a child, since the first time his mother had taken him to the movie theater. He'd sat there in awed silence, completely transfixed by the actors on screen. It had taken a few weeks of begging and temper tantrums, but eventually his parents had agreed to send him to a summer theatre camp. He'd taken over the drama department of his junior high  _and_ high schools, had started going on auditions the moment he graduated.

But nobody had really warned him about how damn difficult it would be.

Just getting into an audition proves difficult enough. He's managed a dozen or so non-speaking extra roles, but it's not enough. Not enough to quell his desire. Definitely not enough to pay the bills.

It had been one of his four roommates, Cameron, who suggested it. Julian might not yet have connections, but he has the  _look_ , and it turns out that's all modeling agencies look for. He snags catalogue spreads right off the bat, becomes the face of a local boutique, has advertisements for car companies and watch brands and all kinds of clothing lines.

But landing this new campaign with  _Reed Van Kamp_ might be what finally gets him noticed. What finally gives him enough of a pull to land actual acting auditions.

He's not the only model, he knows. Van Kamp had requested two models with different  _looks_ , just to better showcase his new male line. Julian knows he's going to get in the more elaborate outfits -- it seems to be the aesthetic designers most like him in, and he knows he can pull it off. For the more simple, traditional ensembles, Van Kamp had gotten Logan Wright.

 _The_ Logan Wright.

Julian knows who Logan is, of course. His face is plastered on billboards in Times Square. His body across a dozen major magazines. He's walked in  _Fashion Week_ , for godssake. Julian's seen interviews with him, where he claimed he never planned to model. It had been his stepmother, Michelle, who encouraged him give it a shot. And boy, did he take to it.

Seeing him in person is still a little bit of a shock.

Julian's always been attracted to tall blondes with beautiful eyes, regardless of gender. Logan not only fits the criteria, he  _exceeds_ it. He towers over the assistants working on his outfit, his hair glistens under the bright lights, and his eyes, when they turn up to look at Julian, are the brightest shade of green Julian's ever  _seen_. There's a flash of interest in those eyes, but Julian doesn't have time to dwell on it -- he's dragged away by his own gaggle of assistants, his hair tugged and sprayed until it fits the image they're aiming for.

Once he's dressed, he's shoved rather unceremoniously into a ring of bright lights. They blind him momentarily, and he feels himself collide with something sturdy and oddly warm.

"Wow there," says a pleasantly silky voice, "Don't wanna break that pretty nose of yours, do we?"

Julian blinks a few times to adjust, eyes widening a little when he comes face-to-face with Logan Wright.

"Shit," he mutters, "I'm sorry I didn't see you...that sounds dumb, I know."

"Nah," Logan grins, "The lights get everyone at first. You're new at this?"

"I'm not  _new_. I've done catalogue work before."

"You telling me you look like  _that_ and you haven't been picked up by a major fashion house yet?"

Julian can't help but balloon up a little, "Well modeling isn't my real career goal, actually. I want to be an actor."

"Ah," Logan nods, understanding, "And you're trying to get to a place first where people actually recognize your name. Gotta tell you, working with Van Kamp is probably gonna do that for you."

"That's the hope."

"Julian? Logan?" A rather short man with curly hair approaches, and Julian quickly recognizes him as the designer, "So I don't know if you're familiar with the campaign we're working right now, but we're really trying for inclusivity and diversity. So our idea for this shoot is to...well, kind of..."

He makes an odd hand gesture, and Logan snorts.

"If you want us to gay it up, Reed, you just have to say so."

Reed's cheeks turn pink at that, "I was trying to be more...delicate."

Logan turns to Julian, one eyebrow raised, "Are you insecure with your masculinity? Homophobic at all?"

"I mean I'm bi, so..."

"Perfect," Logan looks back at Reed, "So just act all couple-y? Like that shoot you did with Hummel and Anderson? Got it."

Reed finally slinks away, and Julian stretches out a little. He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, and tries to get into his element. It's similar to acting, he knows; he just has to follow the direction of the photography director, has to play the character the designer created through the clothes.

He can do this.

But then they move into their first position, both facing the camera. Logan throws an arm around Julian, and  _oh_ , he likes that.

He's done couples shoots like this before, of course. But it's always been with women, and Julian's always been the one doing the holding. Now that he's  _being_ held though, it feels totally different. 

Logan has nice arms.

 _Very_ nice arms.

Very nice arms that somehow wind up wrapped around Julian.

In every.

Single.

Photo.

They start with the tamer shots: Julian and Logan standing beside each other laughing at some imaginary joke, their arms half-linked as Logan stares down at Julian, Julian tucked up into Logan's side. But then they hit the  _real_ poses, and Julian's not sure how he's going to survive.

"Okay, Logan, step behind him a little. Right there, yeah. Arms around him. Like you  _need_ to take him home with you, alright?"

Julian can hear Logan chuckle under his breath.

"You'd be so lucky," Julian mutters, just as Logan wraps one arm around him. His hand slides up, fingers just brushing against Julian's neck. It's  _hot_ , almost obscenely so,  and Julian feels his breath catch in his throat. 

The cameras start to flash, and Julian does the best he can to work his poses. He tilts his head to the side, brings one hand up to wrap around Logan's wrist, looks up through his eyelashes and straight into the camera. 

"You're a natural at this," Logan murmurs between poses, "You sure you'd rather act instead?"

"Just shut up and pretend you need to take me home with you."

Logan's breath hits the back of his neck, "Don't have to pretend."

The flashing starts up again before Julian can come up with a response. Logan tightens his arm around Julian, pulling him closer. They're completely pressed together now, and Julian can feel the line of Logan's hardening cock pressed against his ass. It's utterly distracting, and Julian's relieved when the whole thing wraps after just a few more shots. 

"Okay guys, just give us one second to look over these," the photographer calls out, as he and Reed peer down at the computer screens.

"You always hit on the other models?" Julian asks, finally pulling away from Logan, "Kind of unprofessional, hm?"

Those green eyes skim up Julian's body, "I don't, usually. But the other models don't usually look like you."

"All models are hot," Julian retorts, "That's why they're models."

"Not this hot," Logan says, "You're very distracting, you know."

" _I'm_ distracting? You're the one who had those stupid arms all over me."

Logan looks amused, "You think my arms are stupid?"

"I do, actually," Julian says, gesturing, "Like that vein on your bicep? Who the fuck has that?"

"You're the one with an ass so big it didn't actually fit in the pants they gave you."

"So you admit you were checking out my ass, then?"

"You basically shoved it into my dick on that last pose, so yeah. Kinda noticed."

Julian grins. He likes the way Logan's looking at him now, eyes all dark and intense. He opens his mouth for the typical  _my place or yours_ , but Reed finally looks up from the screens.

"Okay, we got what we need," he calls out, looking pleased, "You guys can keep what you're wearing if you want. They suit you."

He turns back to talk to the photographer. Nobody's looking at the models anymore, all rushing off to do their own work.

"So," Logan murmurs, leaning close, "My place or yours?"


	17. Clubbing

Julian Larson knows he's a ten.

An eleven, some might say, but Julian prefers the realism of a solid one-to-ten number scale. 

He  _knows_  he's a ten, and he doesn't have to settle for anything less.

Still, he sees no harm in letting people touch, letting them hope for the smallest something with him. He enjoys it, even, his nights unwinding at clubs with faceless dancers, all eager for the chance at a night with him. He doesn't even bother drinking, half of the time, preferring to get his high of choice from the thumping bass of the music, from the feel of sweat-slick bodies pressed to his, of hands on his hips and lips at his neck. He craves being wanted like this, loves the way he can make men and women alike lose themselves with just a glance.

Sometimes, though, he finds someone  _worthy_ of his attentions.

The blond at the bar is just one of those someones.

Julian spots him midway through the night, the impeccably dressed masterpiece of a man leaning casually against the bar. There's a half-empty glass in his hands, and his long fingers hold the drink casually, carelessly. He doesn't seem to have any company for the night, judging by the way his sharp green eyes scan the room. Just before his gaze hits the center of the dance floor, Julian twists in his partner's arms, careful to show off his best angles. The man's eyes finally reach him, and Julian can't help but smirk at the way that gaze lingers. He rolls his body, slowly, deliberately.

The man's eyes flick upwards, finally settling on Julian's face.

Julian grins, a little, allows the tip of his tongue to moisten his full lips, then leans his head back against his partner's shoulder, showing off a long expanse of tragically unmarked neck.

The man's going to come to him, he knows.

He doesn't need to try harder than that.

He never does.

Not even a full song later, the man is strutting his way, eyes fixed on his target.

On Julian.

With just a glance, he manages to send Julian's current partner scrambling away, and  _oh_ , isn't that a turn-on. Large hands find their way to Julian's waist, long fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of his shirt to brush at his skin. Julian pouts prettily up at him.

"You scared him away."

"You're out of his league anyway," the man's voice is sure, strong. Powerful.

"Maybe I  _liked_ him."

"Did you?"

"No."

He slides his hands up slowly, surely. Rests them against the man's chest, just for a lingering moment, before winding them around his neck. It forces the man to lean down a little, and their foreheads press together. Those eyes are even more piercing up close, an indescribable shade of green that makes Julian's toes curl.

"Like I said," the man says, "Out of his league."

"But not out of  _your_ league, is what you're saying?"

The man chuckles, and his hands pull Julian closer, "I'm the best you're gonna find here, princess."

Julian can't argue with that. He smirks, instead, allows the man to explore his body with those large hands as they press up against each other. He's worn his tightest jeans tonight, the ones that make his ass look  _exquisite_ but that also prevent any under-the-clothes action. It's driving the man crazy, and he knows it.

He waits until the arousal in the man's eyes starts to shift into frustration. Then he twists in his arms, pressing backwards against him. Their height difference is perfect, for this, for Julian to press the swell of his ass firmly against the man's clothed cock. He hears the hitch in the man's breath, feels the stutter in his hands as they wrap around Julian's waist again. The man leans his chin on Julian's shoulder, presses his lips to his cheek, his neck, his ear.

"Come home with me," he murmurs, and Julian lets his eyes flutter closed, tilts his head to the side.

"I don't know," he responds, a teasing lilt to his voice, "I don't even know your name."

Another low chuckle, "It's Logan."

"Logan, hm? I'm Julian."

"Well, Julian. I'd very much like it if you'd come home with me."

Logan's words are punctuated with more roaming hands. One shifts down to Julian's thigh, his hand squeezing firmly enough that Julian's cock twitches in interest. The other slips up, long fingers loosely winding around Julian's neck. Julian follows the pull of those fingers, tilts his head upward until their lips are pressed together.

Logan _knows_ how to kiss.

It's not the messy, drunken wetness Julian usually endures on these kinds of nights. Logan's lips are firm, his tongue sure. He holds Julian firmly in place as he explores his mouth, leading him through this. He's in control.

Or so he thinks.

Julian rolls his hips again, and Logan breaks the kiss with a growl. His dancing's lost the rhythm now, his body grinding into Julian's at an uneven pace.

"I  _could_ go home with you," he murmurs, lips still brushing against Logan's, "But I don't think we'd make it very far, do you?"

"My apartment's two blocks away."

"Tempting," Julian says, arching his back. Logan groans again, both hands moving to Julian's hips now, "But I'm not sure you'll make it off this dance floor."

"Not a fucking teenager," Logan pants out, even as his fingers stutter over Julian's body.

"You wanna take me home?" Julian breathes into his mouth, "Take me against a wall? Counter? We're not gonna make it to a bed, I can tell you that much."

" _Fuck_."

"Bet you're big. You feel big, baby," Julian winds one arm back, throws it loosely over Logan's shoulder and tangles a hand in his hair, "Bet you'd feel so  _good_ inside me."

"I would. You'd  _love_ it."

"You wanna fuck me?" Julian continues. He uses Logan's distraction to reach for the button fastening his own jeans in place, flicking them open with one hand while the other tugs at Logan's hair, "Been thinking about it since you saw me, haven't you?"

"Fuck, yes," Logan gasps, burying his face in Julian's neck once more. Julian lets him kiss, lets him suck, lets him bite. Once he's satisfied, he turns again, places his hands on Logan's arms and pulls them towards his own ass.

"Touch me, baby," he murmurs.

This time, when Logan's fingers slip across the waistband of Julian's jeans, the fabric gives. He slides one hand inside, letting out an almost pained moan at the feel of firm, naked skin.

"Yeah," Julian continues, nipping at Logan's lower lip, "Just like that.  _Touch me_."

Logan's hand squeezes around Julian's flesh, and Julian's hips roll forward in response. He can  _feel it_ , when Logan falls over the edge. He sees those green eyes fall shut, that pink mouth form a soft  _o_ as his body trembles. His hand stills, on Julian's skin.

This.

This is what Julian loves.

This power, this ability to send people reeling without even taking his clothes off. 

Logan's whole body slumps a bit, and his fingernails dig into the plumpness of Julian's ass as he struggles to regain his breathing.

"I  _told_ you," Julian says, chiding, "Couldn't even make it off the dance floor."

Those green eyes snap open again, and Julian's struck by the fierceness in that glare.

"Come home with me," Logan says again, "You want a  _real_ show? Come home with me."

It's tempting.

Almost unbearably so.

Still, though.

He likes when they work for it.

"Don't be silly," he says, instead, taking a step back, "You have to at least buy me dinner, first."

Logan's still too shaky to follow, when Julian twists through the crowd and darts away, getting lost in the darkness and the mass of writhing bodies. He almost feels a touch of  _loss_ , without those hands on his body.

But Logan will look for him again, he knows.

How can he not, after that?


	18. Sugar Baby!Julian

He meets Julian at a club.

The younger man’s in the center of the dance floor, his arms stretched over his head, his hips swaying to the beat of the music. There’s more than a few hopefuls trying to get his attention, beautiful men and women gliding their hands over his body. But his interest doesn’t stay stagnant for long, and before too long his eyes are scanning the room again, searching.

He’s the most beautiful thing Logan’s ever seen.

The rest of his whiskey slides smoothly down Logan's throat, and then he’s crossing the room, singularly focused on the beautiful man and his dancing. Their gazes lock as Logan moves onto the dance floor, and he sees the flicker of interest in those dark eyes. He pulls away from the silky-haired girl he’s been dancing with, moving toward Logan with a smirk.

But Logan knows how to keep a man interested. Knows not to be too predictable. Instead of pulling the man close, like all the others had, he spins him around, rests his hands low on those hips and presses against the man’s back. It’s a fantastic idea; the man rolls his hips, grinding an absolutely exquisite ass back against Logan. He leans back against Logan’s shoulder, his lips moving.

“What was that?” Logan has to yell over the music, and he feels the man’s laugh.

“I said I thought you’d stood me up,” he repeats, loudly this time, “You’re _late_.”

“I’m a busy man, Julian.”

There’s another soft rumble of Julian’s chest. His hands slide down his own body, coming to rest over Logan’s. Julian’s hands are smaller, thinner, a little more delicate, and Logan likes the feeling of their fingers intertwined.

He’d known, of course, what Julian looked like. He’d been very detailed in his profile, down to his exact height and weight. His pictures, tame compared to the way he’s moving now, had given Logan a very accurate picture of what he looked like.

Logan hadn’t entertained the idea of messaging anyone else, once he’d happened upon Julian’s profile. After seeing _that_ , none of the other boys piqued his interest even the slightest bit. He’d _wanted_ , and he’d messaged, and Julian had messaged _back_.

He’s never done this kind of thing before. Never _paid_ someone to go out with him. But his work schedule just isn’t conducive to a regular relationship, and an arrangement like this seemed perfect. It had taken some research, of course, of the most exclusive and secretive websites to set this kind of thing up. He and Julian haven’t gone into the details of this whole thing. Not yet, at least. This first meeting is meant for both of them to feel it out, to see if they’re interested in more.

Logan, for one, is definitely interested in more.

They dance together, for a few songs. He lets Julian grind against him, liking the fluid way his limbs move. But they really should get to the point of this meeting, and so Logan soon finds himself taking Julian by the arm, pulling him to the private table he’d reserved in a secluded corner.

“Ooh, VIP table,” Julian says with a grin, settling onto the velvet sofa, “Spoiling me already.”

“Thought we should probably sit somewhere we can actually hear,” Logan says matter-of-factly, “Since we need to work out the the details of all this.”

He grabs the bottle of Château Margaux chilling on the table, pouring it into two glasses and handing Julian one. The man raises his eyebrow at the bottle, and Logan can practically see him calculating the total in his mind. It reminds him of the envelope tucked into his suit jacket, and he pulls it out, sliding it casually across the table.

“For meeting me tonight,” he says, as Julian takes the envelope. He doesn’t count it right there, and Logan appreciates the class in that, “Just to be clear, you can take that and leave right now. I’m not keeping you here against your will.”

“Like I said, I’m looking for something stable. I have bills to pay and expensive taste.”

“I can tell,” Logan eyes Julian’s outfit, “That’s a Van Kamp, isn’t it? I’m sure someone from the site bought it for you.”

Julian grins, “They like when I look pretty.”

“How many are you seeing?”

“Right now?” Logan nods, and Julian leans back, “There’s mostly two. A third, technically, but he travels a lot, so that’s usually only a weekend or so a month.”

“What would it take for you to cut that down to one?”

Julian’s eyes widen for a moment before he composes himself, sipping lightly at his wine and clearing his throat.

“One? Like…just you? Exclusively?”

“It’s not me being possessive. I mean, I _am_ , but it’s also for convenience’s sake. I work. A lot. I don’t get a lot of time to myself. When I _do_ , I don’t exactly want to have to compete with a bunch of other guys. I’d like to know you’ll be available when I need you to be.”

Julian peers at him, “So let me get this straight. You want me to be available for you. Always.”

“I’m not saying you can’t have your own social life,” Logan says, “This isn’t some _Fifty Shades_ situation, alright? I’m saying that I’d prefer if you didn’t have a full rotation of men while we’re seeing each other. I’ll compensate you for it, of course.”

“Sebastian’s paying me a grand a month,” Julian says, flatly, “Clark’s paying two. Cameron’s paying _five_ , and he always brings presents when we meet.”

“Presents?”

“Watches. Clothes. Shiny things.”

“Alright,” Logan considers, “So that’s eight grand a month, between the three of them, plus gifts. Is that right?”

“I’m not great at math, but that seems to add up.”

“Fine. Ten.”

“…excuse me?”

“Ten thousand a month. Starting, at least. If you’d like to negotiate gifts or bonuses for extra meetings, we can discuss it. But ten thousand a month for exclusivity.”

Julian looks a bit hesitant, and Logan doesn’t miss his glance around the room.

“Like I said, I’m not trying to assert some kind of _claim_ over you, or anything. I just need something reliable.”

“Then why aren’t you looking for an actual relationship?” Julian asks, “One where you’re not paying the other person?”

“Work,” Logan explains, “I know I didn’t tell you what I do…”

“You’re a politician,” Julian says smoothly, “House of Representatives. State of New York. I do know how to google. You didn’t think I’d show up to meet a stranger without doing a background check, did you?”

“Well I’m sure you can imagine how stressful it is. The hours I work. It isn’t exactly conducive to meeting someone.”

“But you’re lonely.”

“I’d like some company, yes.”

Julian sips at his wine again, examining Logan critically, “How about we give it a few weeks, first? See if this works out for both of us. I don’t exactly want to let go of a reliable income if you’re going to decide next week that this isn’t your thing.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Logan acquiesces, finally picking up his own glass, “Are there any other rules you need?”

“If you don’t pay, you don’t play. That’s the main one.”

Logan can’t help but smile, “Fair. I can set up an automatic deposit, if you’d like. And I noticed your wish list online is a little sparse.”

“I have separate lists, for the guys I’m seeing,” Julian says, “Outfits you’d like to see me in, that kind of thing. I’ll send you a link.”

They talk for another hour or so. Logan expects a bit of hesitation when he tells Julian he’ll need to sign an NDA, but he seems to understand readily enough. He gets a basic idea of what Julian expects from this, the kind of gifts he’ll appreciate and the stability he craves. Julian’s side seems pretty cut-and-dry; he’s a recent college graduate, started this whole sugaring business in an attempt to pay off his student loans.

It starts to grow late, and Logan offers to walk Julian out to his car. He opens the door for him, and Julian smiles.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says, “Let me know when you’re free for dinner. I’ll pencil you into my schedule.”

“Thursday?” Logan offers, “I probably won’t be off until eight or so, but if that works for you…”

“Eight it is,” Julian leans forward, rocks up onto his toes and kisses Logan full on the mouth. It’s a damn good kiss, just the right amount of tongue without being over-the-top filthy. He pulls back with a smile, letting his fingers linger against Logan’s cheek, “I’ll see you then.”

As promised, Julian sends Logan a link to a separate wishlist, one that seems tailored just to him. It’s full of very classy outfits, of clothes suitable for a politician’s date. He’s added in a few pieces of lingerie, mostly lacy boy shorts in a variety of colors. Logan skims through the list critically, picking out a nice selection that’ll suit the restaurant he’s made reservations for. Almost as an afterthought, he adds a pair of dark red underwear to the cart, before completing the purchase. He springs for one-day delivery, adding in a note for Julian — _wear this on Thursday_.

He finds himself glancing at the clock periodically throughout the day on Thursday. He hurries to finish his work early, manages to get off just in time to make their reservation.

Julian’s loitering outside the restaurant when he shows up right at eight.

“Punctual,” Logan says, taking his arm, “I like it.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it,” Julian smiles winningly, “Thank you for the clothes. I had to guess at your tastes when I made the list. Armani guy, I take it?”

“I like the classics,” Logan nods at the hostess, who immediately leads them to his usual private table near the back. He pulls Julian’s chair out for him, liking the way his skin tingles when Julian squeezes his arm in thanks.

“So, Julian,” Logan says, once they’ve both gotten glasses of rich red wine, “Tell me about yourself.”

Julian smirks a little, “Well what do you want to know?”

“Your age, for starters. I don’t mean to offend, but you look a little…”

“Barely legal?” Julian lifts his wine glass with a soft chuckle, “Turns out that’s what some guys are into.”

“Not me. I’d prefer to know I’m not committing any felonies _before_ I touch you, thank you.”

Julian laughs, reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He slides his driver’s license across the table, and Logan takes a quick look at the date of birth. Julian’s twenty-one, though just barely; older than Logan had assumed, but still…

“I’m nearly twice your age, you know,” Logan tells him as he hands the ID back.

“Don’t worry, I’m into it,” Julian promises, “That gray hair you have at your temple, there? Kind of a turn on. You’re not the oldest guy I’ve gone out with, anyway.”

“Oh?” Logan raises an eyebrow, “What are the others like?”

“I can’t tell you _that._ Gotta maintain their privacy and all, you know.”

“I’m not asking for their social security numbers. I’m just curious about what I need to compete with to get you all to myself.”

“Well,” Julian relaxes a bit into his chair, “There’s Sebastian. Stereotypical trust fund guy, you know? He’s actually not much older than me. But he’s not really into long-term relationships, so he pays me to keep him company sometimes. Go to family events and stuff, so his parents don’t bug him about bringing dates.”

“You’ve met his parents?”

“Mm-hm. His brothers, too. Not as the guy he’s paying, obviously. They think we’re in some complicated on-again, off-again relationship. He’s probably the tamest guy I’m seeing. Most of the stuff he buys me is all stuff I actually wear when I’m not working. Except for the fancy French silk lingerie, of course. Then there’s Cameron—“

“He’s the one paying you the most, right?”

“That’s right,” Julian grins, “He’s older than you. Works a lot, like you. He says I help him feel young again. He’s a little kinky. Likes when I wear tight leather pants and stuff. In public, at least. When I’m over at his place he prefers me naked.”

Logan’s throat feels dry. He sips at his wine, “There was a third, too?”

“Clark. He’s the one that got me into this whole thing, actually. I started out camming, you know? He knew me from that. I guess I posted something once that tipped him off that I lived nearby, and he messaged that he’d be willing to pay me to go on a date with him. I didn’t even realize that was a thing until then.”

“And what is he into?”

“I mostly go to concerts with him, actually. Act like his slutty boyfriend. Booty shorts and mesh crop tops, that kind of thing. He likes showing me off,” Julian pauses just long enough to examine Logan’s facial expression, “So. What are _you_ into, Mr. Wright?”

“Logan, please.”

“Logan, then. You don’t really seem like the crop tops and booty shorts type.”

“Can’t say that I’d _mind_ , but no, it’s not typically my preference.”

“Then what is?”

“Honestly?” Logan picks up a piece of bread with two fingers, gingerly dipping it in the olive-oil-and-vinegar mixture on the table, “I mostly just prefer my partners to look comfortable.”

“Interesting. That’s surprisingly vanilla, compared to most of the guys I run into.”

“That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Nah,” Julian shakes his head, “Honestly, keeping up an act can be kind of exhausting, sometimes. So what do you expect, then? How many dates a week? Your preferences in bed? Do you want me to send you pictures? Show up to fancy events with you?”

“I’m thinking one or two dinners a week,” Logan says matter-of-factly, “I don’t bottom. Ever. Though I’m sure you weren’t expecting that anyway. Other than that I’m pretty open. Like I said, fairly tame, though I wouldn’t be opposed to, say, tying you to the bed? Pictures would be appreciated but not mandatory. As for fancy events…”

“I can blend into rich people parties, don’t worry,” Julian promises, “Talk you up to pretentious old politicians. Unless you’re not out, of course.”

“Been out since I was seventeen. I’m just not sure I’d want to subject you to those kinds of things. _I_ don’t even like going.”

“Well I’m sure you’d find a way to make it up to me.”

Their conversation trails off a bit when the waitress brings their food. They eat in companionable silence. It’s nice, not eating alone for once, and Logan’s starting to feel a little less weird about the fact that he’s paying Julian to be here with him.

He likes the way Julian eats, too. It’s very possible that he’s just doing it for show, but he has this way of pursing his lips as he takes a bite, of licking at his lips and flicking his tongue over the fork. It’s oddly sexy, and Logan finds himself wondering if Julian will agree to go home with him after just two dates. His research had turned up a startling lack of solid answers — understandable, since sexual decisions vary so wildly from person to person. Still, the whole sexual aspect of this arrangement is important to Logan, and Julian’s openness to it had been part of his appeal.

Thankfully, Julian seems to be on the same wavelength.

“So,” he says, once he’s finished his salmon, “Before we talk about moving this to your place or a hotel or something, I’d kinda like to know if you have any hard limits or like, specific expectations?”

Logan considers for a minute, “Nothing that I can think of, really. I’d feel more comfortable if we had some kind of safe word, and I’d like to believe you’ll use it. I won’t withhold money just because you need something to change.”

Julian looks pleasantly surprised, “Just the plain red, green, yellow? I promise I’ll let you know if you make me uncomfortable. I’ve really only run into that issue once, though, and you definitely don’t seem the type to be into knifeplay.”

“That’s an actual thing?” Logan asks, mildly concerned, “I thought that was just in really niche BDSM communities.”

“One of the first guys I met doing this had a thing for it,” Julian shudders a bit at the memory, “He didn’t really _warn_ me beforehand, so I thought I might actually die for a minute.”

“And you’re still doing this?”

“It’s why I joined the site,” Julian explains, “They do background checks beforehand. Plus they log who’s matched with who, so if I suddenly go missing the police can look into who I agreed to meet with. I do tell people where I’m gonna be, just so you don’t get any crazy ideas.”

“I’m not going to _kill_ you,” Logan starts, a little defensively. But Julian just laughs a little, and Logan relaxes, “Really, though. I’d love to take you home with me, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Well," Julian's voice drops a half-octave, "What are we waiting for?”

Logan thought he’d feel awkward, bringing his — and it feels so weird to say it — _sugar baby_ home with him. But Julian’s handling it like a professional. He seems to notice Logan’s discomfort, slinks up to him with a smile and raises both hands to Logan’s shoulders.

“So, you wanna take me here, or should we move to the bedroom?”

It’s a tempting thought. Julian would look beautiful bent over Logan’s marble countertops, or the baby grand piano in the living room, or the black leather couch.

But he figures they’ll get there, eventually. He’s more interested in seeing how compatible they are, for now, of figuring out if this arrangement will work long-term. So he leans down to kiss Julian before leading him down the hall and into the bedroom.

Julian falls to the bed easily, legs spreading automatically as Logan crawls over him. As much as Logan likes the look of the outfit he’d bought, it _is_ frustratingly in the way. He growls a little, trying to unbutton the shirt, and eventually just tears at it. Julian lets out a breathy giggle when a handful of buttons fly across the room.

“I’ll buy you another one,” Logan mumbles, before re-attaching his mouth to Julian’s neck. It seems to be a sensitive spot, if Julian’s whimpers are any indication. He manages to get Julian’s slacks off without too much issue, and finds that he very much enjoys the red lace he’d picked out. It hugs Julian’s hips and thighs, the fabric straining a little over his hardening cock. Logan runs his fingers across it, lips quirking the it twitches a little under his touch.

“Like what you see?” Julian asks, breathlessly, “Because that’s usually not even the crowd favorite.”

“Oh? Then what is?”

Julian pushes himself up on his elbows, uses his legs to nudge Logan a little out of the way. He rolls over, slowly, until he’s resting on hands and knees, back curved slightly inward.

And _oh_ , if that’s not the most glorious ass Logan’s ever seen…

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself, “You’re telling me you’ve been hiding _this_ under those clothes all day? Do you have any idea how many guys would be messaging you if you had pictures of this in your profile?”

“I consider it a reward,” Julian says, with a slight wiggle of his hips, “For the men I deem worthy of my time.”

“I’m very happy to have made the cut, then.”

Logan squeezes it experimentally, liking the way it jiggles a little when he lets go. He _loves_ the look of it covered in lace, is almost sad at the idea of pulling them off. But then he does, revealing a large expanse of golden tanned skin, and somehow that’s even better.

“You can spank it, if you want,” Julian says, “I’m into it.”

Logan hums idly, still enjoying getting his hands on that skin, “Maybe next time,” he says, before leaning in and biting at one cheek. He waits a moment to gauge Julian’s reaction, taking his breathy gasp as invitation to continue. He grabs one cheek in each hand, admiring how they just _barely_ fit in his long fingers, and pulls them apart.

Julian lets out a low moan when Logan’s tongue brushes against him, and Logan almost laughs when he falls from his hands to his elbows.

“This okay?”

“More than okay,” Julian murmurs, voice coming out a little shaky, “Fuck, feel free to continue as long as you need.”

So Logan does. He’s always enjoyed pleasuring his partner, and Julian’s so beautifully vocal. He likes experimenting, finding what angles and motions make Julian writhe against the mattress. Julian seems to like the biting, and he actually pushes back into the movement when Logan starts sliding fingers in.

“I uh, maybe should’ve addressed this earlier,” Julian gasps, “And I know we—fuck—sent over STI tests, but—“

“I have condoms, don’t worry,” Logan reassures him, reaching for the box, “Granted, I know having my tongue in your ass without protection wasn’t exactly _safe_ , but I couldn’t help myself.”

He finally releases Julian’s ass long enough to slip one on, then firmly grips Julian’s hips and slides inside.

Julian’s tight, and Logan has to take a moment to breathe. He’s not as young as he once was, his stamina not quite as impressive, and it’s been a disappointingly long time since he’s had good sex. But he manages to control himself long enough, and breathes a sigh of relief when Julian actually orgasms first. Logan tries to be courteous of his sensitivity, slowing down his own hip thrusts as Julian trembles through it.

“Go ahead,” Julian chokes out, once he can speak again, “I can take it.”

Logan can’t really argue with that. He lets his hips rocket forward again, barely making it through another half-dozen thrusts before he’s coming. He rolls off Julian, after, collapsing onto the bed beside him. It takes him a moment to catch his breath. His vision his blurry, his body trembling. He doesn’t really come to until he feels Julian rolling off the bed.

“I’m taking your shirt,” Julian says, picking clothes up off the floor, “Since you destroyed mine.”

“Fair. You don’t have to leave right away, you know.”

“I do, actually,” Julian says, tugging his pants on, “I’m supposed to leave for Coachella tomorrow.”

“With one of the other guys?”

“No getting jealous. I told you there were others.”

“I’m not jealous,” Logan retorts, “I just prefer a little bit of after-sex cuddles.”

“Me too. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I'm penciling you into my schedule next time.”

“Thursday again? Same time?”

Julian turns to him, a slight smirk on his lips, “Are you important enough to snag reservations at _Le Bernadin_? I’ve been dying to try their risotto.”

“I’ll make some calls.”

“Then I’ll see you Thursday.”

He steps out with a wink, leaving Logan with the mental image of Julian wearing his slightly-too-large shirt.

Turns out that even in his middle age Logan can manage another two orgasms thinking of  _that_.

In all honesty, Logan doesn’t exactly _love_ the idea of paying someone to go on dates with him. It feels just a little like it’s bordering on prostitution, and he knows how quickly that kind of thing can blow up on someone during an election year.

But the one time he brings it up, Julian waves it off.

“Think of me more as a…really needy boyfriend. You’re not paying me for sex, you’re giving me nice things to _impress_ me. And let me tell you, babe,” his voice lowers, and Logan loses his train of thought, “I am _very_ impressed.”

So he buys gifts. He transfers their agreed-upon allowance into Julian’s bank account. He makes reservations at fancy restaurants, takes Julian to the _opera_.

Six weeks in, Julian looks up at him during the post-sex cuddles he’s now giving on a fairly regular basis.

“So,” he says, resting his chin on Logan’s chest, “I um…I had dates with the other guys this week. Let them know my schedule’s changed.”

“Oh?”

“That I won’t be available for the foreseeable future,” he clarifies, “That someone else is paying for me to be more…open.”

“If that was meant to be an innuendo, it was terrible.”

Julian grins, “Point is, I’m all yours now. You better make it worth my while.”

“I can do my best.”

He flips them over, presses Julian into the mattress, and does his absolute best.

It’s nice, having Julian more readily available. On days he gets off work earlier than anticipated, all it takes is a text to have Julian meeting him for dinner or a movie or a Broadway play. Sometimes, Julian even distracts him _during_ work, sending him all kinds of pictures of himself posed seductively in the clothes Logan buys him.

“So you liked the panties?” Julian asks, when they meet up for drinks, “The black silk? I’m wearing them now, you know.”

Logan raises an eyebrow over his glass of scotch, “You wanted to come here, remember? You can’t say things like that and not expect me to drag you back to my place.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Julian says, dipping the tip of his finger in his midori sour and licking it clean, “But first…there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“More presents? I _just_ gave you that Valentino watch.”

“I know, I love it,” Julian tilts his wrist, admiring it, “But it’s something a little different, this time.”

“A vacation? A car? A better apartment?”

Julian laughs, “Well if you’re offering. But no, it’s actually…acting lessons.”

“…acting lessons?”

“Yes,” Julian says, not quite meeting his eye, “The good ones are stupid expensive. Plus I’d have to commute for it. It’s during the day though, so you’ll be at work. I'll still be here for all your last-minute date needs.”

“You want to be an actor?”

“Maybe.”

It sounds like a ludicrous plan to Logan. A percent of a percent of acting hopefuls actually _make_ _it,_ and as pretty as Julian is, Logan has no idea what kind of talent he has. But it’s not really his place to judge the things Julian wants, he supposes. He sips at his drink again, clears his throat.

“Send me a link. I’ll take care of it.”

Julian’s responding smile is _beautiful_. They barely make it out of the bar before Julian’s plastered to his side, sliding his hands under Logan’s jacket and kissing him soundly. The sex that night is _fantastic_ , and Julian burrows close for their post-sex cuddles. He always feels so nice in Logan’s arms. He’s the perfect size for this, and soft scent of his shampoo makes Logan smile.

Oh.

“I guess I should go,” Julian says, slipping out of Logan’s arms, “We’re still on for that ballet on Saturday?”

“Of course.”

Julian grins, leaning down to kiss Logan on the cheek before he pulls on his clothes. Logan watches as he heads out, unable to keep that same soft smile off his face.

The door closes.

“…fuck.”

“Let me get this straight,” Derek says the next day, leaning forward onto Logan’s paper-covered desk, “You found a hot sugar baby. Months ago. Who you never told me about, for some reason. You spent thousands of dollars on him. And now you’re realizing you might have actual romantic feelings for him.”

“I know. I’m an idiot. He’s _twenty-one_ , Derek.”

“You realize you’re closer to forty than thirty, right? A lot closer?”

“How would I even…how would I spin that, for my career? Dating a guy significantly younger than me who _totally_ gives off sugar baby vibes?”

“…worked for your dad.”

“Huh,” Logan crosses his arms, considering, “It did. Actually, the age difference between Michelle and my dad is even bigger than between me and Julian.”

“Hang on. I don’t mean to burst your bubble or anything, but let’s be realistic,” Derek says, “You’ve been _paying him_ to like you. How do you know…do you have any reason to think that he might actually like you back? That this could turn into something real?”

“No. But it’s kind of the closest thing to a relationship I’ve had since…since a really long time ago.”

“Look, I know you get lonely sometimes. But do you really think this is a healthy choice?”

“Really? We’re talking _healthy choices_? Nobody’s bothered me about that since my college therapist.”

“Point still stands,” Derek says, “Look, if you feel like you’re ready to date, I can try to scrounge up some single guys…”

“I want him,” Logan says, firmly, “Julian. I want _him_.”

“…if you say so. Just be careful, okay?”

“I’m not a child. I can handle it.”

Logan can absolutely not handle it.

It shouldn’t be difficult. He’s a grown man. He spends his days arguing with politicians, with convincing people to see his side of things. But then he’s at dinner with Julian, staring at that beautiful, way-too-young for him man, and he doesn’t know what to say.

So he buys Julian fancy steak. Lets him order the most expensive red wine he can get. Takes him home with him and drags him into bed.

The sex feels different, somehow. It’s slower. Julian kisses him deep, straddles him and rides Logan until his vision blacks out. Logan opens his arms for cuddles, after, frowning when Julian’s warm body doesn’t slide close to his. He cracks his eyes open, sees Julian sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, um…I kind of need to talk to you about something.”

“Money again?” Logan pushes himself up, resting back on his elbows, “More presents? Anything you want, baby, you know that.”

“It’s not money,” Julian says, looking a little uncomfortable, “It’s…god, this is awkward. I um…I can’t see you, anymore.”

Logan sits up fully, now, his brow furrowed in confusion, “What? Is it another guy? Like when you broke it off with those other guys for me?”

“It’s not another guy.”

“Did I do something wrong then?”

“No,” Julian shakes his head, “No, I did.”

“Did what?”

“I have feelings for you,” Julian blurts out, “And it’s kind of a _thing_ , you know, that you’re not really supposed to develop feelings for someone who’s paying you, and so I just think it’s for the best if I…I’m sorry.”

“You have feelings for me?”

“I know it’s ridiculous. And I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear. I…I know guys, who might be your type. I could set something up, if you want. I won’t tell them how much you’re giving me.”

“Julian, wait—“

Logan reaches out, grabbing Julian’s wrist before he can move away.

“Please don’t make this weird,” Julian begs, “This is already humiliating enough, I _never_ expected to—“

But Logan cuts him off with a firm kiss. He can feel Julian’s surprise, the way his whole body freezes when Logan’s lips press against his.

“I…what was that?” He asks breathlessly, when Logan finally pulls away.

“I have feelings for you, too,” Logan says, smiling softly, “I thought I was the ridiculous one. Liking a guy I’ve been paying to pretend to like me.”

“It wasn’t pretend. At least not anymore.”

“Well that’s perfect,” Logan says, before leaning in again. But Julian turns away, pulling his arm from Logan’s grasp and standing.

“I _can’t_ Logan, don’t you get it?”

“No, actually. I like you. You like me. What’s the problem?”

“I need this, Logan. I don’t have a real job. I don’t have any marketable skills. This whole thing…I can’t be in a relationship when I’m also dating other guys to pay my bills.”

“So I’ll pay them,” Logan says, reaching for him again, “I have the money.”

Julian scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. Move in with me.”

“Move in with you? Logan, that’s _insane_.”

“Is it? We’ve been dating — kind of — for a few months already. So move in with me.”

“You don’t even _know_ me, Logan,” Julian retorts, “This whole thing…I put on an act for all of this. You know that, right? I mean, I’m not _nearly_ as fancy as I pretend to be.”

“I can deal with not fancy.”

“I drink four dollar rosé,” Julian says, “I don’t dress like this. I don’t know _shit_ about ballet or opera.”

“I know,” Logan smiles, “Don’t think I didn’t see you falling asleep during _Aida_.”

Julian winces, “The point is that I’m not what you want. I’m not all upperclass and fancy and shit.”

“I don’t care about that,” Logan insists, “You’re still beautiful and funny and fun to be around. If you’d rather spend your nights sitting on my sofa watching Netflix and eating take-out, I’m fine with that.”

“But you’re…” Julian sighs, running a hand through his hair, “You’re all rich and successful and important, and I’m not.”

“I _like_ you, Julian. A lot. More than I’ve liked anyone in a really long time. And I understand if this whole thing makes you uncomfortable, or if you think I’m too old for you—“

“I don’t care about how old you are.”

“Then why not give it a shot?”

Julian hesitates, “I…I can’t move in with you. If we tried this, I can’t just…not until I knew if you liked me for _me_.”

“So then we’ll give it some time. You must have enough saved to cover your rent for a little while, right? I can still help you out if you need.”

“I don’t know. I can’t just…take advantage of you like that.”

“Don’t think of it as taking advantage of me,” Logan says, “Think of it as me trying to impress my very hot younger boyfriend.”

Julian’s expression softens, “Boyfriend?”

“If you’re okay with that. I’d kind of like to take you on a real date.”

“…so does that mean sex is off the table?”

Logan’s lips quirk, “Not necessarily.”

“…do you still want me to call you _daddy_?”

He shivers, “Depends. Is that another act or is that a real kink for you?”

“Wasn’t a real kink until I met you. _Daddy_.”

Logan growls, spreading his legs and pulling Julian between them, “No more acting, alright? Just let me blow your damn mind.”

Julian grins, “I never had to put on an act for that part," he says, climbing on top of Logan and kissing him deep.

Logan’s life doesn’t get any easier after that. He still has a crazy workload. Still spends ridiculously long hours at working, snapping at interns and arguing with old Republicans. His alarm still goes off at four in the morning every weekday, and he often doesn’t come home until well after dark.

Now, though, when he comes home, he’s not alone.

“Hey,” Julian says from the sofa, when Logan steps into his apartment, “About time. I almost started the movie without you.”

Logan strips off his jacket, throwing it over the back of a chair before settling down beside Julian. He lifts Julian’s legs into his lap, admiring the way the oversized sweater he’s wearing falls off one shoulder.

“You did nearly finish all the popcorn, I see.”

“Well _I_ have young people metabolism. I’m really just saving you from dying young of a heart attack or something.”

Logan narrows his eyes, keeping his glare pointedly fixed at Julian as he scoops up a handful of popcorn and shoves it into his mouth, “Play the damn movie, Jules.”

“…I have to tell you something, first.”

Logan freezes. Julian takes a deep breath, sets his popcorn bowl on the coffee table and shifts closer. He takes Logan’s hand, squeezing slightly.

“This isn’t another break up talk, is it?” Logan asks, hesitant, “Because I thought things have been going really well. You _just_ moved in, and—“

“I got a job.”

Logan blinks, “A…a job?”

“Not like before. You know those acting classes you signed me up for a while ago? Well at the end, this producer came in and some of us got to do auditions…it’s not gonna be a blockbuster movie, or anything, but I got cast. I start filming in three weeks.”

“Oh my god. Julian, that’s…wow, that’s amazing.”

Julian smiles a little nervously, “It means I won’t be here quite as much. I won’t be able to just wait naked in your bed anymore, or—“

“Hey, stop,” Logan lifts his hands to Julian’s face, “It’s not like that anymore, remember? You’re my _boyfriend_. I want you to be happy. If acting makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Julian smiles, leaning up to kiss Logan softly, “So did you wanna start the movie now, or wait for the delivery guy with dinner?”

“What time is the food supposed to get here?”

Julian glances at his watch, “Twenty minutes or so? I waited to order until you said you were on your way home.”

“Well,” Logan wraps one hand around Julian’s thigh, pulling him into his lap, “Can you think of _anything_ we can do in twenty minutes?”

“ _Someone’s_ optimistic.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me, _daddy_.”

Logan manages to last twenty- _two_ minutes, thank you very much.

Thankfully, the delivery guy is late.


	19. Fireman!Logan

Logan’s on the eleventh hour of a twelve-hour shift when the call comes in.

“Apartment building on 24th and Oak,” Derek says as they hop in the truck, “Supposedly contained to one unit for now, let’s hope it stays that way.”

Logan has to slap himself a few times as they speed across town. He’s consumed a frankly ridiculous amount of caffeine throughout his shift, but the last hour or so is always tough. Derek glances at him sideways but doesn’t question it; he must be just as tired as Logan is, at this point. The truck screeches to a halt once they reach the building, and the pair jumps out.

Charlie and Justin move towards the nearest fire hydrant, and Derek and Logan rush inside, searching for the source of the flames. They’ve worked together well enough that they don’t have to talk through their plan — Derek starts on the first floor, and Logan jogs up the stairs, clearing out the even-numbered floors.

“ _Third floor clear,”_ Derek’s voice calls over their radio, just as Logan’s ascending to the top.

“ _On the fourth now,”_ Logan calls back, _“Smells a little smoky, but I don’t see anything_.”

“ _Careful, alright? Let me know if you need backup_.”

Logan throws open each door as he stalks down the hall, peering into each apartment for any evidence of flames. Each unit is clear. Until he reaches the last door on the left, at least. There’s a sharp yelp when he kicks open the door, and Logan steps inside.

“Do you not hear the alarms?” He says, completely thrown by the man standing in the kitchen, “Most people understand that it means _get the fuck out_.”

“I heard it,” the man snaps back, “But seeing as they’re going off because of _me_ , and I have things under control, I figured it wasn’t really a huge deal.”

“Under control?”

The man points one finger, and Logan follows his gesture to the oven. It’s cracked just barely open, thin tendrils of flames darting out from inside it.

“I closed it,” the man says, “The internet says it should go out by itself, now.”

“If it were _actually_ closed, sure,” Logan says a little dryly, stepping over and kicking it firmly shut with the toe of his boot.

The man looks a little sheepish, “I…I thought it was. I guess I kinda freaked out. It was really hot.”

“Fire tends to do that, yeah. Where’s your extinguisher?”

The man blinks, “My what?”

“Fire extinguisher? Usually a big red cylinder?” The man still looks confused, and Logan rolls his eyes. He checks the hallway, finds the one nearest the apartment and yanks it off the wall. The fire’s already smaller, now that he’s cut off the oxygen source. Still, he pulls the oven open again, sprays a thick layer of foam over the flames. It extinguishes the fire almost instantly, but there’s still the smoke to deal with. Thankfully, the apartment has a set of large windows not far from the kitchen, and Logan throws them all the way open before turning back to the man.

“I was just trying to make lasagna,” he says, “The directions said to just put it in…”

“Maybe you should stick to microwave meals,” Logan grabs the man by his arm, “Come on, we need to get you checked out.”

“What? I’m _fine_.”

“Smoke inhalation isn’t a joke,” Logan says as he tugs the man downstairs, “I’m just trying to do my job.”

He manages to get the man outside, passes him off to a paramedic and finds Derek and the others.

“Bad cook,” he says, and Charlie looks relieved.

“All good, then? Because we’re all off shift in about five minutes, and I promised Hope we'd finally have date night...”

“So long as that guy doesn’t try to use his oven again, we should be good.”

Logan glances over to where the man’s being examined. He’s sulking a little, as the EMT’s look him over, his pink lips downturned. They must declare him healthy enough, because he only sits with them for a minute or two before they let him go. Justin finally lets the occupants of the building head back inside, but Logan calls out before the fire-starter can disappear.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

Behind him, Derek chokes at the look of outrage on the man’s face.

“I have a _name_ ,” he snaps, scowling, “It’s Julian, thank you very much.”

“Well, _Julian_. Try not to blow up your oven again, alright? There’s a very nice Chinese take-out place just down the street.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? I thought public servants were supposed to be polite.”

“Funnily enough, being nice isn’t actually in my job description. Just stopping fires. But I’d very much like to _not_ have to do that again today, so if you could please refrain from cooking, it'd be much appreciated.”

Julian scowls, and Logan earns himself a very obscene hand gesture before the man stomps off.

There’s a heavy sigh from behind him, and Charlie speaks up, “We’re definitely going to get a complaint for that, you realize that?”

“Eh,” Logan shrugs, “I’ll take the blame. It was worth it.”

 

.

 

“ _Apartment fire, 24th and Oak!_ ”

Logan frowns at the announcement, even as he yanks on his jacket and hurries out to the truck.

“Isn’t that the same place as last week?” He asks Derek, as they veer out onto the street, “With the lasagna guy?”

Derek frowns, trying to remember, “I think so. There’s no way it’s the same guy again, though.”

It is.

Julian’s already outside when they arrive, along with the rest of the inhabitants of the building. He looks up at Logan as the crew hops off the fire truck.

“It’s out already,” he calls out, “There’s no fire. Anymore.”

Logan nods at the rest of his team, electing to stay behind while they check out the building. He moves toward Julian, mildly annoyed.

“What was it this time?” He asks, “Cookies?”

“ _No_ ,” Julian says, defensively, “It was Pad Thai.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, “The man who set lasagna on fire tried to make Pad Thai?”

Julian shifts awkwardly, “Not…exactly. I um…tried to microwave leftover Pad Thai.”

“You…hang on,” Logan shuts his eyes for a moment, thinking, “You…leftovers. You started a fire trying to _microwave_ _leftovers_.”

“I think my microwave is broken. It just happened.”

Logan sighs, “You’re kind of hopeless, aren’t you?”

“And you’re still an ass.”

Derek, Charlie, and Justin return before too long, all looking vaguely amused. Derek heads Logan and Julian’s way, a blackened _something_ in his gloved hand.

“Apartment 423?” He asks, and Julian winces, “Pro tip? When using the microwave, make sure you take the foil off your food, first.”

He holds up the charred remains of Julian’s dinner, and Logan rolls his eyes. The guy looks young, yes, but definitely not young enough to lack basic knowledge on how to appropriately use kitchen appliances. From what Logan can gather, it looks like he’d shoved a fully-wrapped container into his microwave, and he sighs.

“Maybe you should stick to something easier,” he offers, “Cereal. Toast, if you’re feeling really risky.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I’m serious,” Logan tells him, “If you can’t make dinner without starting a fire, you might wanna give up on your dreams of being a chef.”

“Well I can’t just _starve_.”

“It’d be a hell of a lot safer for everyone who lives in your building.”

“You know what?” Julian narrows his eyes, “I don’t like you.”

 

.

 

“I’m not sure I believe that whole thing about you not liking me,” Logan says, the next time they’re called to Julian’s building, “This has _got_ to be intentional now, right?”

“He put a fork in the microwave,” Charlie says, when he walks out of the building, “All clear, just a little explosion. Pretty sure the microwave is ruined, though.”

“Good,” Logan glares at Julian, “Think you’re done with the hot kitchen appliances, alright? Try sandwiches.”

 

.

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Logan says, a week later, “Who messes up _spaghetti_?”

“I guess I didn’t put enough water in?”

“You just cover the fucking noodles!”

“Well I know that _now_.”

 

.

 

"It's  _ramen_. You don't even have to cook anything! You just heat up water and  _wait_!"

"That's what I did!"

Logan rolls his eyes, "So what, you burnt  _water_?"

"Well I tried to microwave it, and--"

"No more microwave. I mean it, this time."

 

.

 

“I said _no more microwave_ ,” a few days after that, “I’ve literally met eight-year-olds who can figure out those microwave macaroni and cheese cups, how the hell did you set it on fire?”

“I thought it said thirty minutes,” Julian says, shrugging, “Apparently it was three.”

“How the hell did you think it was _thirty minutes_?”

“I’ve never made macaroni before!”

“You’ve never—“ Logan sighs, “What are you doing right now?”

Julian looks mildly surprised, “I’m…talking to you? Evacuating the building?”

“Right, well I get off shift in about half an hour. I’m coming over, and you’re going to learn how to cook.”

“…excuse me?”

“Well you’re obviously helpless, and I’m worried about you starving. Or, you know, killing everyone in your building because you can’t figure out how to push buttons on the goddamn _microwave_.”

Julian blinks once. Twice. He looks thrown off, like he hadn't expected this result at all.

"You're coming over. To my apartment. To teach me how to cook."

"See you in an hour."

Logan turns away before Julian can fight, heading back to the truck and ignoring Derek's bemused look.

"You know, you probably have to know how to cook yourself in order to teach someone else.

"Technicalities."

 

.

 

As promised, Logan knocks on Julian's door just under an hour later. Julian still looks surprised, when he answers, like he hadn't actually banked on Logan fulfilling his promise.

"You came."

"I did."

"You brought food," Julian glances down at the take-out bag in Logan's hand, raising one dark eyebrow.

"The thing is,  _I_ don't actually know how to cook, either. I mostly buy those Lean Cuisine things, y'know? But this place has some pretty fantastic fried rice, and if we eat all of it tonight you won't be tempted to reheat leftovers and start another fire."

Julian smirks a little, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorway, "This is totally a date, isn't it?"

"You set off the alarms on purpose, didn't you?"

"Only the last two," Julian admits, "Held a candle up to the alarm until it went off. I couldn't actually tell if you were interested or not, but I figured it was worth a shot."

"Then yes," Logan says, matching his smirk, "This is definitely a date. But no more fires, alright?"

"I'll do my best."


	20. Witch!Julian

“…and I’m in love with him. Stupid in love with him, but he’s not—Blaine got to him first. I thought maybe if I just had a chance—“

“Stop,” the witch holds up a hand, cutting Logan off. He looks mildly annoyed, “You want a love potion, is that it?”

Logan sighs, “Yes. I want a love potion.”

“Well you should’ve started with that. I don’t really care about your whole background sob story. _Humans_ , god.”

“Aren’t _you_ human? Technically?”

The man waves a hand in the air, “Who knows, really. I have parents. A birth certificate. But the jury’s out on the whole label thing.”

“Do you have a name?” Logan asks, watching as the witch rifles through a very cluttered cabinet.

“Julian.”

“Right. Julian.”

“What, expected something more exotic? Balthazar, perhaps?”

“I don’t know. It just seems so…ordinary.”

“That’s rude,” Julian says, turning back to Logan. He holds out his hand, dropping a small glass vial into Logan’s open palm. Logan looks down at it, frowning.”

“This is empty.”

“Brilliant observation,” Julian rolls his eyes, then grabs a nearby book. He blows the dust off, sending a cloud through the air that has Logan coughing. Julian rifles through the pages, making a soft noise of triumph when he finds the right one, “Love potions are tricky, you see. Time-consuming, too. I’ll need you to fetch some ingredients for me.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, “If I’m paying _you_ to brew this, why should I be the one getting the ingredients?”

“If you want if to be effective, it has to be you,” Julian says, scribbling something on a loose slip of paper, “Otherwise it could backfire pretty spectacularly, and your little boytoy could wind up in love with _me_. Wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Logan grimaces, “Is this thing dangerous?”

“Not if you do it right. I’m good at my job,” Julian looks over his list, handing it over, “The easiest one is a strand of hair. One of his, one of yours. That’s what the vial’s for. Wouldn’t want you shoving it in your pocket and mixing it up with your cat’s hair, or something.”

“…right,” Logan slips the vial into his jacket pocket, then reads through the list, “Rose petals picked under the full moon?”

“ _Actual_ full moon. No waning gibbous petals, please.”

“Three drops of river water, collected on the 15th of the month?”

“I can lend you a dropper, if you need it.”

“Leaves from the yard of your beloved?”  
  
“He does have a tree or bush or something, right? That one can be tricky if they live in an apartment.”  
  
“No,” Logan shakes his head, “He has a tree, I think. Is this it?”

“For you,” Julian turns back to his book, frowning at the pages, “I get stuck with the challenging ones. Mermaid tears. Powdered bone. All sorts of fun things.”

“I’m sorry, _mermaid tears_?”

“What, you’ll readily believe in witches but not mermaids? That’s narrow-minded, Wright.”

Logan falters, “I…I didn’t tell you my name.”

Julian fixes him with an intense look, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, “John Logan Wright the Third, though you prefer _Logan_. Mommy issues. Daddy issues. Abandonment issues in general, which I’m sure explains why you’re so attached to this guy you barely know.”

“I _know_ him,” Logan says defensively, “Sure, maybe it hasn’t been all that long. But I know him.”

“Look, I’m not judging. I get paid either way. Speaking of…”

Logan reaches into his pants pocket, “I have cash. Plenty of cash.”

“I don’t want cash.”

“Well then what _do_ you want?”

Julian tilts his head, considering, “You play piano, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I want it.”

Logan blinks, “you want my piano?”

“Of course not,” Julian scoffs, “I want your talent.”

“I’m sorry, my—what is this, some kind of _Little Mermaid_ shit?”

Julian shrugs, “I don’t have much use for money. I can just create things I need. But skills are a little trickier. I’ve always wanted to know how to play.”

“So _learn_!” Logan says, voice going a little shrill, “Take lessons, like everyone else!”

“Or you could just give me the payment I want. He’s worth it, isn’t he?”

Logan hesitates.

“Not worth it? That doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to decide now, of course,” Julian continues, “I don’t take payment until the potion’s complete. With all the ingredients and preparation, it should take about six weeks. Think you’ll be able to make your mind up by then?”

The tone of his voice is almost taunting, and Logan stiffens.

“I’ll get you the ingredients.”

Julian’s laughter follows him as he storms out.

The hair proves easier than Logan thought. He almost wants Julian to be impressed, when he brings the vial with two hairs — one dark, one light — just two days after his initial visit. But the witch just takes them from Logan’s hand, uncorks the vial and tips the hairs into an honest-to-god _cauldron_ he has brewing over the fire.

“Is that necessary?” Logan asks, “The whole cliche, broomstick shit?”

“Not really,” Julian says, stirring the contents of the cauldron three times clockwise, then twice counterclockwise, “I could do this in any pot, really. But I kind of like the drama of it all, don’t you?”

“…so you do this a lot?”

“Kind of make my living on it.”

“I mean love potions, specifically.”

Julian glances over at him, “I know what I’m doing, don’t worry.”

“So you _have_ done them before?”

“Once or twice.”

“And they work?”

“A little too well, if you ask me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Julian turns away, “I have another client coming. I need you gone.”

It takes Logan two weeks to gather the next ingredient. The 15th of the month rolls around, and the nearest river is conveniently only a ten-minute journey from his house. He brings Julian the three drops of water and the leaves in one visit.

“You got these today?” Julian asks, poking at one of the leaves, “They are fresh, right?”

“This morning. The water, too.”

Julian looks pleased. He adds the leaves to a small bowl, crushes them up with a pestle until there’s nothing left but a fine powder. Once he’s done, he tips the contents of the bowl into the cauldron and quickly adds the river water. The cauldron hisses sharply as he stirs, and Logan watches in fascination as a tendril of shimmering pink smoke rises from the concoction.

“That’s good, right?” Logan asks, “That means it’s working?”

“So far,” Julian stirs a few more times, then covers the thing with a heavy lid and turns around, “So. Have you decided yet.”

Logan leans forward, resting his elbows on Julian’s book-covered table, “…would I be able to re-learn how to play? Once you take it away?”

“I’d be taking your talent. So you might be able to re-learn a bit, but you’ll never be as good as you are now.”

Logan grimaces, “All my musical talent? Singing, too?”

“Nah. I can sing already.”

“You can?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I can have hobbies.”

“And secrets, apparently. You wanna tell me about the other love potions you brewed?”

He doesn’t expect an answer. In fact, he’d be less surprised by Julian physically hauling him off his stool and shoving him out the door. Instead, Julian fixes him with a calculating look and sits across from him.

“Magicked love isn’t the same as organic love, you know,” he says evenly, “It’s…messy.”

“Messy.”

“If done wrong, especially. My first one…” Julian sighs, “I took shortcuts. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“What happened?”

Julian’s silent, for a beat, “My customer…he didn’t tell me who he planned on using it on.”

“What, was it someone important. _Your_ girlfriend, or something?”

“No. It was me.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes Logan a moment to process, “He used it on _you_? He had you brew a love potion for _yourself_?”

Julian looks a little lost in the memory, “It was wrong. Everything…what I felt, it wasn’t love. Not what everyone says love is, at least. It wasn’t good, or happy, or any of that. It was like…like I couldn’t breathe if I wasn’t near him. Like I needed him. Like I wasn’t myself, anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I did one smart thing, at least,” Julian says. He tugs on a chain around his neck, holds up a minuscule glass bottle tied to the end, “I never liked the idea of love potions. I brew them for customers, because it’s what pays. But I always have an antidote, just in case it doesn’t go well.”

“But how’d you know to take it?”

“…Adam left, once. Just for a few hours. But I just felt so…confused? Off? I knew there was something wrong, and I figured that if I took it and nothing happened, it meant it was real. But—“

He trails off, and Logan nods.

“It stopped, though,” he says, “When you took it. Your feelings stopped.”

“Yeah.”

Logan swallows hard, “So…so when you take the potion, it’s not real love, then? It’s just…painful?”

Julian’s expression shifts, and he smiles brightly, “Like I said, I did it wrong. Took shortcuts. It’s fully by the book, this time. I’ve seen it work before.”

“But is it _real_?”

“…I guess that’s up for you to figure out, isn’t it?”

He turns away, and Logan’s learned to recognize a dismissal when he sees it.

The rose petals are next. Plucked off a flower by the light of a full moon. A simple task, but Logan still hesitates as he heads outside to complete it. His fingers shake as he pulls petals off the bud, and he drops more than a few in his fumbling attempts to drop them into the satchel Julian had provided him.

Julian’s smiling, when Logan walks into his shop the next day. It’s an odd sort of smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Last ingredient, then?”

Logan nods, setting the satchel down on the table, “So…that’s it, then? You mix this in and…bam, love potion?”

“That’s right,” Julian says, picking up the satchel, “The petals are something like a garnish, really.”

He plucks two from the bag, dropping them on top of the potion. It glimmers again, bubbling slightly. Julian mixes it once more, murmurs something Logan can’t quite hear and waves his hand over the cauldron.

“You make up your mind, then?” He asks, as he carefully spoons a small amount of the mixture into a small container, “Musical talent for a smidge of love potion?”

He stoppers the bottle, holds it between thumb and forefinger and waves it Logan’s way.

He thought this would solve everything.

A little love potion, and he’d be happy.

But now, faced with the reality of his wish, he feels nothing but disgust.

“…I’d be forcing someone to want me, wouldn’t I?”

Julian nods, slightly, “Kind of how it works, yes.”

“It wouldn’t…I think I’d regret it, later. Knowing that it wasn’t real.”

“I’ve heard the real thing is worth waiting for, anyway.”

“…piano’s all that makes me happy. I don’t think…”

“That it’s worth it? Real happiness for a shadow of it?”

Logan shakes his head. Julian smiles a little, a real one this time, and uncaps the bottle he’d offered Logan, tipping it down his own throat.

“What are you _doing_?!” Logan exclaims, jolting forward to grab Julian’s wrist, “You can’t — you _just_ said!”

“Relax. It’s just soup. Old family recipe. The flower petals were _actually_ a garnish.”

“…soup. You were brewing _soup_?”

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it, in the end. To be fair, I _did_ start brewing it at first. It was only a week or two ago that I dumped it all.”

“What if I _had_ gone through with it?”

Julian shrugs, “Potions backfire all the time. Could’ve been a fluke.”

“…did you mean what you said? About the real thing being worth waiting for?”

“Yes. At least, I hope it is. I’d like it to be.”

“…do you think you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime? No love potions. I promise.”

Julian’s eyes _sparkle_ , “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”


	21. Instagrammer!Julian

Logan’s not really a social media kind of person.

He thinks the whole thing has gotten out of hand — he’s watched Derek spend a half-hour in the gym trying to get the perfect mirror selfie, has rolled his eyes at people in restaurants taking a dozen photos of their food before eating.

But then he catches a glimpse of the most beautiful man he’s ever _seen_ , as he glances over at Derek’s phone while he scrolls through his Instagram feed.

“Woah, hold up—“ he says, leaning over his friends’ shoulder, “Who is _that_?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “This guy? Instagram model.”

“You know him?”

“No,” Derek shakes his head, “Not in person. Only followed him because he did a giveaway a few months back. I didn’t win, but he posts some good workout videos sometimes.”

“He’s _beautiful.”_

“He’s _alright_.”

“Don’t be stupid, he’s literally the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s all angles,” Derek argues, “These Instagram models are insane. Fancy lenses for their iPhone cameras, all kinds of photo-editing apps, clothes they get for free from sponsors. I bet he’s just average in real life.”

“Maybe I should get an Instagram.”

“Seriously?” Derek makes a face, “I’ve been trying to get you to make an account for a _year_ so I have another guaranteed like on all my posts, and seeing one pretty face is all it took? Dude, there are _tons_ of male models on this thing.”

Despite his bitching, Derek does help Logan set up an account. He picks a few photos from Logan’s camera roll, filtering and editing them until he’s satisfied and then posting a couple with a long series of hashtags. Logan’s a little surprised when a dozen or so accounts follow him almost immediately. He smirks knowingly at Logan as he follows the model’s account, then adds a few other male models for good measure.

“He posts like three times a day,” Derek tells him, handing Logan’s phone back, “His name’s Julian something. But no creepy comments, okay? I’ve seen a couple that even made _me_ cringe.”

“Please, I just think he’s _pretty_. I’m not gonna obsess over him or anything.”

The thing is, Logan doesn’t _mean_ to obsess over the guy.

Honestly.

It’s just that his last relationship had ended a long while ago, and he’s been feeling a little lonely as of late. He’s really too busy with his college courses to actively look for a date, and opening up his Instagram app only takes up _seconds_ of his day.

And Julian posts a _lot_.

Nearly every time Logan checks the app, Julian’s posted something new. A picture of himself sitting on a surfboard in the middle of the ocean, a shot of him grinning at the camera as he holds a tiny kitten aloft, one of him smirking slyly into the camera as he curls up under white sheets.

He understands it’s unhealthy. Really.

It’s just that it seems so _harmless_ , developing this mild crush on a boy he’ll never meet in person. He can’t help but smile watching Julian’s Instagram stories, grinning at the bright sound of his laugh and the sparkle to his eyes. He full on skips a class when he gets a notification of a live story, and spends ten minutes watching Julian trying to learn a few chords on the guitar as a friend laughs in the background.

Logan never comments on the photos, though.

Julian has thousands of followers. It’s not like he’d notice a single comment, anyway.

Besides, the ones who _do_ comment are a little forward, and Logan doesn’t want to associate himself with that.

He does try to put himself out there, for real — when a long weekend hits, Logan joins a few of his classmates at a bar downtown, actually lets himself flirt with real life men. But Logan hasn’t really partied in quite some time, and he finds the alcohol hitting him a little harder than he anticipated.

He nearly falls asleep in the Uber home, stumbles up to his dorm room and collapses into bed. He doesn’t remember pulling his phone out of his pocket, has zero memory of opening his Instagram and scrolling through to Julian’s profile.

When he wakes up nearly ten hours later, it’s to a pounding headache and the deafening sound of construction work outside. Logan feels sick to his stomach, groaning and pulling the blankets over his head. He almost ignores the flashing of a notification on his phone, but it doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting any more sleep with the din going on outside. He reaches for it, squinting at the screen.

_JLarson started following you_

Logan blinks.

He shakes his head.

He looks at his screen again.

_JLarson started following you_

It doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t posted anything since the few pictures Derek had set up his account with, save for one black-and-white shot of his piano. He hasn’t even “liked” Julian’s photos, in the fear that Derek would mock him for it. There’s no reason Julian would even find his profile, let alone follow it.

Logan unlocks his phone, taps on his Instagram app, and nearly vomits.

There, at the top of his feed, is a new photo of Julian — one bordering on inappropriate, with Julian lounging poolside wearing nothing but cut-off denim shorts. They’re obscenely short, littered with rips and tears that show a tantalizing amount of tanned skin.

But that’s not what makes Logan sick.

Just under the photo, with _Logan’s username_ beside it, is a horrifying comment.

_I’d do a n y t h i n g to get my hands on that ass_

Logan has to read it a dozen times. He can’t believe he’d had that much mental capacity left after last night, to leave something like that.

Can’t believe Julian had _replied_ to it.

_Just your hands? ;)_

Maybe he’d thought of it as a joke. Maybe Logan can get through this with only minimal embarrassment. He considers deleting his whole account, tossing his phone into the ocean and fleeing the country.

Just as he’s about to exit the app, though, a small notification he’s never seen before pops up.

A message.

From _Julian_.

Logan takes a breath before opening it.

 _I don’t really make a habit of meeting up with fans, but if that’s really you in your pictures you’re fucking beautiful. I’m gonna be in New York next week, if you wanna meet up for a drink_.

He doesn’t respond, at first. He takes some time to get over his hangover, works out some kind of response that isn’t completely humiliating.

It must work, because exactly eight days later, Logan’s sitting in a swanky bar uptown. There’s a glass of amber liquid in front of him, but he hasn’t touched it. He won’t embarrass himself this time.

More than a few heads turn, when Julian walks into the room. He glances around for a moment, grinning a little when he spots Logan at the bar.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the seat beside him, “Logan, right?”

“That’s me.”

Julian eyes him, smirking a little, “Gotta say, part of me thought this was some kind of catfish situation. That I’d show up and find out you’d used some model’s photos on your account to lure me in.”

Logan feels his face heat up, “I didn’t even post those. My friend set up my account, and said it’d be weird if I didn’t have any photos of myself up.”

“Your friend’s pretty smart.”

“Look, about my comment—“

Julian laughs, “Little forward. But it got my attention.”

“I was drunk. Super drunk.”

“So you didn’t mean it, then?”

“I didn’t—I mean I wouldn’t—obviously I think you’re gorgeous, but I wouldn’t just—“

“Let me guess,” Julian leans forward, fixing Logan with an intense gaze, “You’re classier than that? You’d buy me dinner first? Flirt and charm me until I absolutely _had_ to go home with you? Until I felt like I’d do anything to get your hands on me? Until I begged for you?”

Logan swallows hard, “Not how I’d word it, exactly.”

“But same general idea, right?” Julian grins when Logan can’t formulate a response. He reaches for Logan’s glass, sips at the drink and sets it back down. Logan glances down at it. He can see the smudge from Julian’s lips.

“…do you always message guys who make creepy comments about your ass on your photos?”

“None of them have ever looked like you before.”

“I’m sure you aren’t exactly hurting for dates.”

“Most people aren’t worth my time.”

“And I am?”

The sparkle in Julian’s eyes is even brighter in real life, “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Julian posts a new picture the next morning.

One taken on the streets of New York, his face illuminated by city lights as he laughs into the camera.

_It really is the city that never sleeps, isn’t it? (Photo credit: TheWrightOne)_

Logan smiles when he sees it. He double-taps it, smiles down at the happy expression on Julian’s face. There’s a slight movement beside him, and one arm winds around Logan's naked waist as a chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

“You have a gift, you know,” Julian says, voice still hoarse from sleep, “I didn’t even have to edit that. Just slapped a filter on it and called it a day.”

Logan sets his phone down, twists in Julian’s arms and presses him down into the bed, “Guess you’re gonna have to keep me around for a while then, hm?”

“Guess I will.”


	22. Merthur!Jogan

Logan is going to fall.

Julian sees it, moments before it happens. His Prince will stumble across the uneven ground, lose his footing and twist his ankle painfully. It will give Clavell just the opening he needs — Logan’s stronger, of course, clearly the better swordsman. But Clavell is _ruthless_. He won’t abide by common rules of courtesy, won’t afford Logan a moment to push himself upright.

Julian _sees_ it. The flash in Clavell’s eyes as Logan falls backwards, the glint of his sword as he hoists it above Logan’s chest.

He won’t stand for it.

The heel of Logan’s boot catches on a stone, and the Prince’s eyes widen as he loses his balance. Clavell’s lips curve into a smirk, and Julian reaches a panicked hand forward.

“ _Cadere_ ,” he hisses, and the warmth of his magic courses through his fingers. There’s a faint golden shimmer, and Clavell stumbles to the ground, his sword falling from his hand. It’s just enough time for Logan to move — he jumps to his feet, kicks Clavell’s sword away from the man’s hand, and presses the tip of his own weapon against the man’s chest.

“Julian!” His voice rings across the field, his eyes never wavering from Clavell’s face, “The shackles, now.”

On any normal day, Julian would roll his eyes at the command.

 _Say please_ , he’d taunt, enjoying the irritation in the Prince’s eyes.

But this is no ordinary day.

He has the shackles ready, hurries forward and helps Logan restrain Clavell’s hands behind his back. The man’s eyes are on him, those lips still curved in a smirk as his gaze runs over Julian’s face.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?”

“Don’t speak to him,” Logan orders, yanking Clavell up a little more violently than necessary, “It’s a half days’ ride back to the castle, and you’d do well to stay quiet for it. Wouldn’t want to _accidentally_ drown in the river before my father can question you.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame. Drowning as opposed to burnt at the stake, or whatever creative punishment King John has in mind for me.”

“ _Silence_.”

Clavell snarls as Logan drags him to the horses, but he doesn’t seem inclined to speak again. A blessing, really; with Logan’s current mood, he’d likely make good on his promise of drowning the man.

Julian follows obediently. Logan doesn’t even glance backwards, knowing he’ll stick close. When they approach the two horses Julian had left tethered to an oak tree, Clavell raises an eyebrow.

“Only two?” He asks, that gaze finding Julian once more, “I’ll share with _him_ , thank you.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Logan spits. He manhandles Clavell onto the smaller of the two animals, pulls a length of rope from the saddlebag and secures his restraint to the saddle. He then takes a second, longer length of rope, knotting it firmly through the horses’s bridle and handing Julian the trailing end, “Hold onto this. Don’t you dare let go, you understand me?”

“I won’t let go.”

Logan seems satisfied by that. He kicks one boot into the stirrup of his own horse, throwing his leg over the saddle in one fluid motion. He scoots forward, further than normal, then extends a hand to Julian.

It’s a tight fit, the two of them. Logan’s a tall man, with the brawn and breadth that makes him the very picture of a Crown Prince. Julian is smaller, true, but not by much. His chest presses against Logan’s back, his knees curled behind Logan’s own legs. For a moment, he hesitates — but Logan makes a soft noise of frustration, reaches back to grab Julian’s arm and wind it around his own waist.

“I don’t have time to stop if you fall, Julian.”

It’s a good thing Julian’s riding behind him. He can feel his face warm, knows his cheeks are likely as red as the sigil on Logan’s chest. Clavell’s watching him, still, his eyes narrowing. But before he can open his mouth, Logan kicks at his horse, and they begin the long journey back to the castle.

Nobody speaks, during the ride. Logan’s focused on the path ahead of them, Julian on keeping the rope leading to Clavell’s horse firmly in his clenched hand. Even Clavell is silent, and it makes Julian uneasy.

“We need to stop,” Logan says, after some time, “The horses need to rest.”

There’s a small clearing, a trickling stream nearby. Julian slides to the ground first, and Logan takes the rope from his hands, pulls Clavell off the animal and moves to tie him to a thick tree instead.

“The horses,” he says firmly, and Julian leads them both to the stream, watching the two men out of the corner of his eye as he lets them drink.

Clavell’s eyes are still on him, and it’s starting to make Julian a little uneasy. He secures the horses to another tree, drifting back towards Logan.

“An hour, at most,” the Prince tells him, “I want to make it back before nightfall.”

“I don’t trust him,” Julian says, quietly, “Something about him…I think we need to be careful.”

“I can take care of one prisoner, Julian.”

“I know, I just—“

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Those piercing green eyes find Julian’s, and his breath catches momentarily, “Of course I do.”

“He’s just a man. A terrible one, of course. But a man nonetheless,” Logan pulls a water skin from his belt, pulling a face at the lightness of it, “Keep an eye on him.”

He heads off to the stream, and Clavell tilts his head to the side, that sickening smirk still plastered across his face.

“He doesn’t know, does he?”

Julian scowls at him, “Doesn’t know what?”

“How devoted you are.”

“I’m the Prince’s personal manservant,” Julian retorts, “I’m fairly certain he understands my loyalty.”

“Yes, but does he understand your love?”

Julian’s blood runs cold, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? You’re quite obvious, you know. The way you look at him.”

“I’m not—“

“Oh, but he doesn’t feel the same, does he?”

“Shut up.”

“That must be _agonizing_ ,” Clavell sounds absolutely giddy, “In love with your Prince, knowing you’re just a lowly servant. That even if he _did_ love you, he couldn’t.”

Julian glances off to the stream. Logan’s completely oblivious to the conversation going on just a few dozen paces away — he kneels at the stream splashes cool water over his face.

“You don’t deserve it, you know,” Clavell continues, “You are an _exquisite_ creature.”

“Flattery now, is that your game?”

“Untie me. Let me go, and I promise I won’t hurt your precious Prince.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll take you away,” Clavell says, “I would take _such_ good care of you. Treat you the way you deserve. Better than he ever could.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Do you really think you’d ever be happy? Chained to a man who’ll never look at you? Who’ll never see you as anything more than a _slave_?”

“ _Shut up!”_

“Hey!” Logan turns from the stream, picking his way over fallen leaves and twigs, “What’s going on?”

Julian’s trembling. His hands are clenched into fists, his fingernails digging crescent-shaped grooves into his palms. Clavell snickers cruelly, eyes never leaving Julian’s face.

“Just having a little chat with your servant here,” he says, and Logan turns to Julian. He steps close, rests one heavy hand on Julian’s shoulder and lowers his voice.

“What did he say? Julian, what did he say to you?”

But Julian just shakes his head. He’s too upset. He can _feel_ the magic coursing through him, knows he’s teetering on the edge of revealing his secret. Logan squeezes his shoulder, moves to grab his crossbow from his bag and presses it into Julian’s hand.

“See if you can find us something to eat, alright? Small’s fine. Rabbit, quail. I’ll handle him.”

He’s not overly worried about Clavell talking. It’s something that can be easily denied later, if need be. He’s denied it before, after all.

The forest is quiet. There isn’t an animal in sight. Still, Julian takes the time to get himself back under control. He takes deep breaths, squeezes his eyes shut and tamps the magic down. He’s done _so well_ , managed to keep both of his secrets for _years_. He won’t let a stranger ruin this for him.

When he finally heads back to the clearing, Logan’s heaving Clavell back onto his horse.

“Didn’t find anything,” Julian says lightly, watching the even expression on Logan’s face, “Sorry.”

“Guess that’s what you get for sending a servant to hunt,” Clavell says.

Logan’s arm shoots forward before Julian can blink. He backhands Clavell hard, sending him rocketing sideways in the saddle.

“That _servant_ ,” Logan spits, “Has better aim than all my knights combined. That _servant_ is one of the bravest men I know. And that _servant_ absolutely outranks a prisoner. I don’t want another word from you until you’re brought in for official questioning. My father may need you alive, but he doesn’t need you with all your body parts still attached.”

Logan turns, keeping the rope securing Clavell in his own hand. He mounts his own horse, pulling Julian up behind him once more.

It’s just a few hours more before the high turrets of the palace come into view. Logan sets a faster pace, moving at a near-gallop through the front gates. He dismounts as they’re still moving, careful not to jostle Julian out of the saddle.

“Guards!” He calls loudly, “Take the prisoner to the dungeons. _Now_.”

Three men rush forward, and Clavell’s roughly pulled between them and out of sight.

Julian’s quiet, as he slides to the ground. He gathers the reins of both animals, leading them to the stables. The sound of heavy footsteps follows him, and he calls over his shoulder without turning.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, “I can be up in half an hour to draw your bath and prepare your supper.”

“Julian,” Logan’s voice is disarmingly quiet.

“Are you injured, from the fight? I can call the court physician—“

“ _Julian_.”

He turns.

Logan’s standing closer than he’d realized, and Julian has to tilt his chin upwards to meet his eyes.

“What did he say to you?” Logan asks, softly, “Clavell. When he upset you. What did he say?”

Julian pastes on a charming smile, “Nothing important, my Lord. Made fun of my looks.”

He continues on his way to the stables, but Logan seems unsatisfied with the answer.

“Well I know _that’s_ a lie,” he drawls, “What would he say, your hair is too shiny? Your teeth too white?”

“He said I’m too skinny,” Julian says lightly, as he unbuckles the saddles of both mares and shepherds them into their respective stalls. When he turns to fetch two apples, Logan’s _still_ staring.

“It’s a crime to lie to your Prince, you know.”

“You haven’t punished me for it before.”

“Would you like to know what he said to _me_?”

Julian freezes. Logan pushes away from the wall he’d been leaning against, moving so close Julian can smell the sweat on his skin. He swallows, hard, tries to keep his face blank.

“He told me,” Logan says, “That I’m not appreciating you enough. That I don’t deserve your loyalty. Your love.”

“You’re the Prince,” Julian replies, “Loyalty is your birthright.”

“Your _love_ ,” Logan repeats, “Is it true?”

“All subjects love their Prince.”

“Julian,” Logan’s hand rises to Julian’s cheek, his fingers stroking the soft skin there, “Have I done anything to make you feel unappreciated?”

Julian can’t _think_ , “…no.”

“Have I done anything to make you feel unvalued?”

“No, Sire.”

“And I have I ever done anything to make you feel as if you couldn’t be honest with me?”

He takes a shaky breath, “No, Sire.”

“Then is it true?”

Julian lowers his eyes. He can’t lie, not now, not with Logan so close, with Logan’s hand on his skin, “…yes.”

He hears Logan’s sharp intake of breath, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“But I know—I’m just a servant. I’m nothing. I understand, and I won’t—you have my loyalty, Logan. No matter what.”

Logan doesn’t respond.

It’s the most humiliating moment of his life, and he fully intends on running. But when he opens his eyes, Logan’s still staring at him, an odd expression on his face. He slides his hand from Julian’s cheek to the base of his neck, pulls him forward and presses his lips against Julian’s mouth.

Julian can’t help the soft noise of surprise that escapes his throat. He can barely work up the mental capacity to reciprocate, and he’s sure Logan’s disappointed by the complete lack of appeal in the kiss. But he’s smiling, when they part, those green eyes sparkling.

“…you’re not angry?” Julian asks, “I thought—I thought you’d be angry.”

“Of course I’m not angry,” Logan’s fingers slide against his skin once more, twisting in the dark curls falling over Julian’s ears, “How could I ever be angry?”

“I’m only a servant.”

“You’ve never been _only_ a servant. Not to me.”

“You’re a _Prince_.”

“I am,” Logan nods, “And…I do have to ask you to wait, if you don’t mind. My father already resents me for my…preferences. He’d never agree to me marrying a commoner on top of that.”

“ _Marriage_?” Julian’s voice is almost shrill, and his eyes widen, “Logan, I—“

“Relax,” Logan laughs lightly, pressing a kiss to Julian’s temple, “I don’t mean any time soon. I just ask—discretion, for now. Once I’m King, I’ll find a way to make this work. I’ll find a way to give you a title.”

“I don’t need a title. I just need you.”

Logan’s lips curve into a happy smile, “So you’re a hopeless romantic, too. I always knew you had secrets.”

Julian clears his throat, taking a step back, “Well. Now you know them.”

“I do,” he finally pulls his hand from Julian’s neck, moves toward the door, “Though I must say, your feelings for me weren’t the secret I expected.”

“Oh?”

“No,” Logan shakes his head, “I thought the magic was the only thing you were hiding.”

He grins, brightly, turns on one heel and heads out the stable door. Julian gapes after him, eyes wide.

“Wait—you _knew_?”


	23. Bartender!Julian

The glass slides across the counter, bumping against Logan’s forearm. He sighs, picks it up with three fingers and sips at the drink — scotch, the good shit.

“Another disappointment?”

“Shouldn’t even be surprising, at this point.”

“Eh. He looked boring, anyway,” Julian pulls the rag off his shoulder, wiping down the damp streak on the counter left from Logan’s glass, “That stuffy suit. Gross lawyer haircut. Who does he think he is, anyway?”

“An actual lawyer, believe it or not.”

“Like I said, _boring_.”

Logan sighs, “And who would _you_ suggest I date, oh wise one?”

Julian shrugs, manages to maintain eye contact as he mixes up some complicated fruity pitcher for the bachelorette party on the other side of the bar, “Someone _fun_ , you know? Different. You’ve been in a rut since that Blake guy.”

“Blaine.”

“Whatever. He was boring too. You need to change it up, you know? Find someone who makes you smile.”

Logan glares. He downs the rest of his drink, sliding the glass back across the counter. Julian catches it easily.

“Nothing makes me smile.”

 

.

 

He can see Julian watching from across the bar.

He’s grown to _hate_ that smirk, the taunting look in Julian’s eyes when he sees Logan striking out. He’d pick another bar, but this is one of the nicest in the city, somehow perfectly borders on classy without being overly fancy. It’s also conveniently close to his apartment, and Logan’s always hopeful — despite his recent history — of the night winding up there.

But it doesn’t seem like there’s any chance of that tonight.

Danny’s nice, but he doesn’t really seem like he’s that into Logan. If Logan’s honest, he doesn’t really feel any kind of connection, either. He’d asked the guy out kind of on a whim. They go to the same gym, have shared a head nod or two in the locker room. Logan hadn’t even been sure Danny was into guys, when he asked him for a drink. But he’d said yes, with a hesitant smile, actually seems to have put a bit of effort into his clothing choice.

Except there’s just not a connection, here. After a particularly awkward lull in conversation, Danny clears his throat.

“I should really—I have a swim meet tomorrow afternoon. Should really get a good night’s sleep before, you know?”

It’s one of the nicer ways Logan’s been rejected. The excuse seems genuine. Still, Logan sighs as his date leaves, heads off to the bar before Julian can send a pity drink his way.

“Don’t say a _word_ ,” he says firmly, when Julian smirks.

“I was just gonna compliment you,” says the bartender, “That one was actually pretty hot.”

“He’s training for the Olympics,” Logan hates that he feels like he has to _prove_ himself to this guy, “Swimming. He’s really good.”

“And really not your type.”

Logan bristles, “How would you know _my type_?”

“I’m just saying,” Julian pours him a double, “He seemed nice. But I don’t think you’re really into nice guys.”

“Why wouldn’t I want someone nice?”

“Because nice is _nice_ , but it can get dull. I think you want someone more challenging. Someone who pisses you off, but also rides you until you can’t see straight.”

Logan nearly chokes on his drink.

“I’m leaving now.”

Julian grins, “See you next time.

 

.

 

Sebastian isn’t boring.

Sebastian isn’t nice.

Sebastian, in fact, is the _last_ person Logan has any interest in dating. But Julian’s right, as much as Logan hates to admit it: whatever he’s trying now isn’t working. Maybe something different is what he needs.

So Logan clenches his teeth and sips at his beer to stop himself from snapping back, from telling Sebastian that his taste in music is _shit_ , or that he doesn’t care about all the vacations the man’s taken to the French Riviera. He can see Julian watching from the bar, the faint look of surprise on his face. When Sebastian ducks off for a restroom break, Logan struts over to to the bar, his shoulders squared.

“So?” He asks, smiling right at Julian as he sets their empty bottles down, “Is this one dull, too?”

“Not at all,” Julian smirks, takes the bottles and dumps them under the sink, “In fact, I was considering giving him a call myself.”

He pulls a crumpled napkin from his pocket, and Logan’s smile fades at the scrawl across it — Sebastian’s name, followed by a messy heart and his phone number.

“He didn’t.”

“He did. When he ordered the beers. _After_ I told him you were a scotch guy, by the way.”

“Fuck,” Logan sighs, burying his face in his hands, “I was just doing what you said.”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“You told me to try something different!”

“I said someone who makes you smile. Does he make you smile?”

“No,” Logan admits, “He kinda makes me want to punch myself in the face.”

“So then it’s not doing what I said.”

“I was trying something _different_. I just wanted—“

“Look,” Julian leans forward, “If you want out of this date, I suggest taking off now. I’ll tell him you got a call, or something.”

“Right,” Logan glances towards the restrooms, “That’s…probably a good idea. Thanks.”

“…you wouldn’t mind if I did call him, would you?”

Logan pushes himself away from the bar before he can figure out if Julian’s serious or not.

 

.

 

“So did you wind up calling him?”

Julian looks up from the drink he’s mixing, smiling a little when he sees Logan sliding onto a stool.

“Who?”

“Sebastian.”

Julian laughs, “No, I didn’t. He’s hot, but it kind of felt like a dick move, making a move on your date.”

“Not like it was a _good_ date.”

“Still. Who is it tonight, then?” Julian looks around the bar, no doubt searching for someone he deems Logan’s _type_.

“Nobody, actually. Thought I’d come alone, see if I found anyone who looked interesting.”

Julian hums a bit, “Tell you what, I’ll make this easy for you. I’m gonna deliver these drinks real quick. Watch me, alright? If a guy checks out my ass, it means he’s gay. Or at least partly bisexual.”

He sets the last glass down on a tray, shoots Logan a smirk and slips out from behind the bar.

He isn’t wrong, of course — more than a few heads turn at the sway of his hips, the way his dark jeans hug the curve of his ass. A handful of people stop mid-conversation, their eyes following Julian’s slow path across the bar.

Logan doesn’t pay attention to any of them.

His eyes are fixed on Julian’s movements, on the seductive tilt of his head as he approaches the group who’d ordered the drinks.

Logan’s never seen him step out from behind the bar before. He’d known how beautiful his face was, of course — the man collected more tips than anyone he’s ever seen, and not just for the way he can flip a bottle as he pours tequila shots. But somehow, this walk has Logan seeing him in a whole new light. Julian turns back once he’s set the glasses down, smirks right at Logan and makes his way back.

He clears his throat as Julian approaches, tries to make it look like he _hadn’t_ just been eyeing his ass.

“I think your plan was flawed,” he says, and Julian frowns.

“What, did nobody look?” He leans forward, “Seriously, did nobody look?”

“ _Everyone_ looked,” Logan tells him, “Them staring doesn’t mean they’re gay, it just means they’re _human_.”

Julian looks _relieved_ , almost, and that bright smile returns to his face, “Well. I can help you pick someone out, if you want? I’ve been told I have good taste.”

“Who told you that, an ex?”

“Maybe.”

Logan laughs, and Julian looks a little proud of himself.

“Really though,” Logan says, still smiling, “I think I’m good, tonight. I’ll take a drink though, if you don’t mind?”

“One scotch on the rocks, coming right up.”

 

.

 

 _Find a guy that makes you smile_ , Julian had said.

It’s good advice, Logan knows. A solid plan.

The thing is, the only person who’s made him smile lately — save for Derek and Michelle, of course — is Julian _himself_ , and Logan’s not quite sure that’s what Julian had been encouraging.

Still, though, the more Logan thinks about it, the more he _wants_ it. Julian’s made fun of him, of course, after each failed date. But instead of angry, Logan just felt _better_ at the jokes. Julian had never insinuated that there was anything wrong with Logan. He’d blamed his taste in guys, yes, but never Logan _himself_. He makes Logan laugh. Makes him hate himself a little less.

Of course, if this _doesn’t_ work out, Logan’s never going to be able to step foot in his favorite bar again.

Julian isn’t busy this time, when Logan slides onto the stool in front of him. He looks up, smiling, one hand idly scrubbing a water mark off a glass.

“Welcome back,” he says. His eyes flick over to the man Logan had shown up with, who’s sitting down at a table some distance away, staring at his phone, “Gotta say, not your usual type.”

“He’s also very _straight_ ,” Logan replies, “Only here for moral support, really.”

“Oh?” Julian raises an eyebrow, “And what, exactly, do you need moral support for?”

“Well,” Logan clears his throat, sits up a little straighter and smiles softly, “I’d really like to ask this hot bartender to get some dinner with me sometime. I’m not sure he’s interested, but I’d really like him to be. See, he told me I should find someone who makes me _smile_ , and I realized that he does. I’d like to think I make him smile, too.”

Julian’s gone still, the glass held limply in his hand. He’s staring right at Logan, but he doesn’t say anything.

“…I’m talking about you, in case that wasn’t clear,” Logan continues, “If it’s a no, I’m definitely gonna need a double, though. Maybe a triple. One last drink, before I can never step foot in this bar again.”

Julian finally moves. He sets the glass down, throws the rag over one shoulder, and _smiles_.

“Dinner might be a little difficult,” he admits, “I work most nights, you know. I don’t have a day off until next Thursday. But if you’d like to get coffee, maybe?”

Logan lets out a breath, “I like coffee. Maybe tomorrow, before your shift?”

“That cafe on Seventh? Around three or so?”

“I’ll be there.”

Julian’s eyes twinkle at him, “You know, I was starting to think you just weren’t interested.”

“Maybe I just wasn’t looking.”

“But you are now?”

Logan’s hand slips forward, his fingers brushing against Julian’s.

“Yeah. I am now.”


	24. Vampires

The boy’s fear is _delicious_.

His delicate hands scramble at Logan’s arms, but the man hardly notices. All of the boy’s strength isn’t enough to serve as even an annoyance to Logan. A strangled cry spills from between his lips, and those wide eyes — an odd shade of blue-gray Logan might find interesting if he weren’t so damn _hungry_ — loll back into his head lifelessly.

“You know,” a voice calls from behind him, “You really should be a little more careful with your dinner. Anyone could see you here.”

The boy slips from Logan’s arms, and he turns, snarling. He can feel the blood dripping from his lips, but the man watching him doesn’t seem concerned. In fact, he’s smirking a little. His arms are crossed over his chest, his face — oddly, ethereally beautiful — lined with amusement.

"Didn't your father ever teach you not to play with your food?"

“My father can rot in hell,” Logan spits.

That just seems to amuse the man more. He chuckles, “Think we’re all rotting in hell, darling.”

He steps over the remains of Logan’s dinner, tutting a little when the boy makes a soft sound of pain.

“You went too far,” he says, “He’s not going to make it. It’s messy. Leaves loose ends, and all.”

"What do you want, Julian?"

The other man smiles, his teeth flashing white in the moonlight. He steps forward, lifts one flawlessly smooth hand to Logan's face and cups his cheek.

"Haven't you missed me?" Julian asks, his voice soft and sweet. It's a distraction, Logan knows. A trick. 

Logan despises being tricked.

He moves forward in one sharp motion, brings both hands up to Julian's chest and shoves him backwards. Logan's strong enough that it should send any man off-balance, even a vampire like Julian Larson.

But Julian isn’t as easily subdued as most others. He ducks sideways as Logan moves toward him, makes a quick, jerky movement with his arms, and suddenly Logan’s flat on his back on the cool pavement. He blinks at the man standing above him, bucks up against the black leather boot now digging into his chest.

“Now, now, you didn’t really think I’d go down so easy, did you?”

He hadn't, realistically. Julian's much older than him, has at least two centuries' worth of accrued power on him. Logan, by comparison, is barely past adolescence, had only celebrated his ninety-eighth birthday last month. Julian's always been vague on his own age, but Logan's not sure he's exaggerating when he reminiscences on his brief dalliance with Mozart, his friendship with Shakespeare.

His insistence that  _he'd_ been the inspiration for many of the rumors and legends surrounding Casanova, though, may be his idea of a joke.

“What the  _fuck_ do you want?"

Julian grins. A beautiful, terrifying grin.

“I want you  _back_ , darling."

"It's been  _years_.  _You_ left  _me,_ remember?"

Julian's lower lip juts out, his mouth forming the pretty pout that had been Logan's downfall, so many years ago, "But I came  _back_ , didn't I? Only for your father to tell me you'd taken off, that nobody's managed to pin you down, no matter how many trackers he sent after you."

"Yet somehow  _you_ did."

Logan stops resisting. Julian won't hurt him. Not permanently, at least. The moment he stops fighting, Julian's smile softens, and he lifts his foot from Logan's chest. He reaches a hand down, instead, and Logan lets the other vampire pull him back to his feet. 

"I did find you," Julian murmurs, their fingers tangled together, "I always will. I can  _feel_ you, wherever I go. Can't you feel me?"

"Of course I can," Logan says, his voice coming out a little angrier than he'd meant it, "I felt you the whole goddamn time. Why do you think it hurt so much when you left? It was like I  _broke_ , like you'd taken parts of me with you when you ran away, and I had no idea if I'd ever get them back."

Julian looks upset by that, "Oh, darling. I've forgotten how difficult it is to cope with, when you're young. I didn't realize."

"Three years," Logan says firmly, "Three years, six months, four days. Not even a  _letter_."

"I couldn't risk it," Julian explains. He squeezes Logan's fingers, brings his free hand to Logan's neck and strokes his thumb over Logan's jawline, "I had a hunter get a track on me. I only meant to be gone a few weeks, but it took  _ages_ to get him off my trail. I was worried he'd find you, too."

"I can handle one hunter."

"But you didn't  _have_ to," Julian lifts up on his toes, his breath ghosting over Logan's lips, "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

"You'd get over it, I'm sure."

Julian's eyes glint, "You have no idea. After all these years, no  _idea_ how important you are to me."

It's overwhelming, having Julian so close after so much time. He's always had some odd kind of power over Logan, something he's never felt with anyone else. Despite his anger, Logan can't pull himself away. He wants  _more_ , in fact, and Julian seems unsurprised when Logan's hands find his waist.

"Don't leave me like that again, do you understand me?"

"Of course," Julian promises, "Not without a warning."

"No. Don't  _leave_. Again. If you have a problem, let me help you with it. That's the deal, right? We're in this together now?"

Julian hesitates. He has difficulties trusting people, Logan knows, centuries-old scars that Logan can't begin to understand. But he nods, slowly.

"Together."

His body goes so beautifully pliant when Logan kisses him. It's his favorite part, really -- that a creature so powerful, with so much blood on his hands, could melt in Logan's arms like this. That someone like  _Julian_ , feared by humans and vampires alike, could turn to softness and sweetness in Logan's hands. He tastes the same as he always has, and Logan craves so much  _more_.

But then the boy, the forgotten crumpled boy on the pavement beside them, makes a soft noise of pain, and Julian pulls away. He looks Logan in the eyes, his gaze intense.

"Are you satisfied?" He asks, and Logan nods. He'd been ravenous, before, but Julian's presence has always had a way of making the hunger seem secondary. As he watches, Julian's canines descend from between his reddened lips, and his eyes flash from deep brown to orange-gold. He kneels beside the boy, reaching out to run a finger down his cheek.

"You poor dear," he says, that same sickly sweet tone to his voice, the facsimile of kindness he uses on all his victims, "What's your name?"

"Kurt," the boy gasps, "I-- _please_. Please, it  _hurts_."

Julian tuts softly, "It does, doesn't it? I can make it stop hurting. Would you like that?"

The boy nods, desperately, and Julian smirks.

It doesn't take long.

Logan hadn't left much, and it likely wouldn't have taken another few minutes before the boy bled out anyway. But Julian seems pleased with whatever he's managed, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he pulls away from the now-still body. He's left a bit, just a small streak of red across the corner of his mouth, and Logan licks it off. Julian hums, takes Logan's face in his hands and kisses him deeply.

"I have a place for us," he says, breaking the kiss far too soon for Logan's liking, "A nice one. With a piano."

"As long as it has you."

"Don't worry," Julian says, pulling Logan along, "I don't intend on going anywhere."


	25. Assistant!Julian

“Venti Caffe Americano, a chicken caesar salad from Dimitri’s, and one lemon cupcake with extra cream cheese frosting.”

Logan raises an eyebrow as his assistant sets the food down on his desk. There’s barely enough space for it, the entire mahogany surface covered in all sorts of paperwork, but Julian always seems to find a way.”

“I didn’t ask for a cupcake.”

Julian shrugs, that same infuriating grin on his face, “I know you didn’t. But I _also_ know you had that conference call with your father this morning, and I figured you’d need something extra after.”

“I didn’t _want_ a cupcake,” Logan nudges at the silver-wrapped treat, “Take it back. Not all of us eat as much sugar as you do.”

“I would, but I bought a half-dozen, and even I draw the line at eating five. Gotta keep this figure somehow, don’t I?”

He slides the cupcake closer to Logan, then turns around, raising his hand in a salute as he goes.

“You’re a terrible assistant!” Logan calls after him.

But Julian doesn’t react. Logan sighs, reaching for his coffee instead. It’s the exact temperature he likes it — the one thing Julian’s always been good at getting right. He picks at the salad next, the one he’d ordered and convinced himself he wanted. Somehow, though, it’s the damned cupcake that’s calling out to him, looking so much more appetizing than the under-dressed lettuce he has to force down his throat. Julian’s going to notice that he ate it, and he’s going to gloat, and Logan’s going to _hate_ it. Still, he can’t stop himself from pulling off the wrapper, devouring the thing in four bites.

He’s not sure if it’s the coffee or the sugar that gives him enough of a rush to continue his day. He manages to get through a decent chunk of the work piled on his desk, replies to the e-mails Julian’s sent through to him and returns a call.

When Julian steps back in, Logan’s in a considerably better mood.

“Just need your signature on the Brightman contract, boss.”

Logan frowns, “That one isn’t ready yet. I didn’t agree to their terms. We still need to finish negotiating—“

“I took care of it.”

“You took care of it,” Logan repeats, blinking. Julian just nods and hands the stack over, letting Logan skim through it.

“They called back while you were in that meeting. Gave their demands. I told them what yours would be. I think we came to an understanding.”

“This is exactly what I would’ve asked for,” Logan says as he reads through it, “They actually agreed to—wow. We can work with this.”

He ignores the smug look on Julian’s face, signs his name with a flourish, and hands the papers back.

“Perfect, I’ll send these over right now. Oh, and I rescheduled your meeting with Smythe & Associates.”

“Wait you—you what?” Logan’s eyebrows knit together, “But that was supposed to be like—“

“Right now?”

“I was _ready_! I had all the paperwork ready, the presentation’s solid—”

“But Sebastian has a business trip next week,” Julian says, “I know how much he irritates you. So I rescheduled for Thursday, when he’ll be gone. Figured you’d rather give your presentation to Reginald, instead.”

“Oh,” Logan blinks, “That’s actually…thank you. Reg is actually _decent_.”

“They’re both decent. Sebastian just likes getting a rise out of you.”

“Still. Thank you.”

Julian smiles, “It was all you had left on the schedule for today, you know. I figured you’d want to get home early. For your anniversary.”

Logan blinks, “Oh. Yeah.”

“…you didn’t forget, did you? I put it in your calendar.”

“No,” Logan says defensively, “I didn’t _forget_.”

“You sure?” Julian leans against his desk, “Because it kind of looks like you forgot.”

“I absolutely did not forget.”

“So you have restaurant reservations, then?”

“I have a plan. I don’t need you to handle _everything_ for me, you know.”

Julian clicks his tongue, “You sure about that?”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

He can hear Julian’s laughter long after he leaves the room.

The thing is, Logan didn’t _forget_.

He has it marked on his desk calendar, the _Hunk of the Month_ one Derek had given him as a Christmas gift that Logan keeps mostly as a joke. There’s a heart drawn on today’s date in pink highlighter, one he’d doodled _before_ Julian set up the Google Calendar reminder, thankyouverymuch.

So it’s not like he forgot.

He just…lost track of the date, a little.

He shoves aside the rest of his work — it’ll mean a rougher day tomorrow, but it’s worth it — and makes some calls.

Just before five o’clock, he strolls out of his office, his suit jacket thrown over one shoulder. Julian looks up from his own desk, his hands stilling over the keyboard of his computer.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Like you said,” Logan smirks, “I have an anniversary to celebrate. You still got a lot left?”

“Everyone in the world e-mailed you this week, I think,” Julian sighs dramatically, gesturing at his very full inbox, “Only a dozen or so look important, though. I was gonna respond to them real quick before I call it a day.”

“Well don’t work too hard, alright?”

“Do I ever?”

Logan rolls his eyes, “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

He waves at Julian as he leaves the building, checks the traffic on his phone in the elevator down to the parking garage. It’ll be a tight squeeze, to get everything done in time, but Logan’s pretty sure he can manage it.

An hour and a half later, Logan’s putting the finishing touches on dinner. The dining table is full of food, plates on plates of delicious-looking meals from the three best restaurants in the city. He straightens the bouquet of flowers, picking out a drooping one and tossing it just as the front door opens.

“Honey,” calls a familiar voice, “I’m home.”

Logan moves to stand beside the table as his boyfriend walks into their apartment. He _loves_ the look of surprise on his face when he turns the corner, the way his mouth falls open just slightly.

“Oh, wow,” Julian breathes, staring at the full table, the nice outfit Logan had changed into, “I really thought you forgot.”

“It’s like you have no faith in me.”

Logan moves forward, pulls Julian’s messenger bag off his shoulder and loosens the tie he’d worn to work that day. He knows how Julian prefers comfort, sees the way he pouts when he pulls on his suit every day.

“You can change, if you want to,” he says, kissing Julian’s temple, “I set out your comfy clothes.”

Julian looks tempted, “But you look so _nice_. I don’t want to be all sloppy.”

“You’re never sloppy. I realized I’d fallen in love with you when you were bedridden with stomach flu, remember?”

“I do, and I was _really_ hoping you’d never make me think about that again.”

Logan laughs a little, pulling away to take his seat at the table. Julian does elect to stay in his work clothes, slides into the seat beside him and admires the food.

“Wow, you went all out, didn’t you?” Julian grins, reaches forward and scoops pasta onto Logan’s plate before his own, “You must really love me.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, thinking of the small velvet box in his pants pocket, “I must.”


	26. Neighbors

Logan rolls out of bed the moment his alarm goes off. He stretches his arms over his head as he pads to the kitchen, watching as his coffeemaker — on a very convenient timer — drips the last few drops of his morning brew into the mug he’d set up last night. He’s craving something a little sweeter, today, so he mixes in a spoonful of sugar and a drop of creamer.

The mug is warm in his hands, as he moves across his living room. He pulls back his curtains, stands at the window of his balcony and stares at the apartment across the way. Just a few moments later, right on cue, the door slides open, and Logan’s beautiful neighbor steps outside.

Logan isn’t a huge fan of his apartment complex. The rent on his one-bedroom is more than he’d like, and his utilities are only barely covered by his income from giving piano lessons. The manager is supremely unhelpful — Logan’s garbage disposal has been broken for _weeks_ , and his many calls to the office haven’t resulted in anything productive.

But his neighbor makes it completely worth it.

He’d discovered the man’s morning ritual by accident, on a day when he’d woken up with a hangover and a desperate need for water. His curtains had still been open when he walked by, and he’d done a double-take at the view before him.

Now, though, he’s used to it.

He watches as the man runs through his first few stretches. He stretches his arms to the sky, and Logan’s eyes skim over the man’s well-formed abs. But it’s the next part that’s Logan’s favorite, and he almost _whimpers_ as the man bends at the waist, folding his body in half.

He always wears the tightest shorts, when he does his morning yoga. Tiny scraps of cotton, barely enough to cover the swell of his ass. When he bends over like this, Logan can practically feel the firm skin under his hands. He _wants_ , so badly.

The man works through the rest of his yoga routine. Logan watches him balance in the most outrageous ways, stares as he contorts his body every which way. He barely remembers the coffee in his hand.

The man stands up from his crow pose, stretches his arms to the sky once more. His eyes always follow the motion, here, and Logan likes seeing the long expanse of blank neck stretched out.

Except this time, the man doesn’t look up. This time, his head moves to the _side_ , and his eyes turn right towards Logan. His arms slide down, his hands running down his bare chest and coming to rest at his thighs. He _winks_.

Logan’s frozen. He hadn’t expected to be caught, like this, hadn’t thought the man could see him through his window. How _stupid_.

But the man doesn’t look upset. He looks _intrigued_ , if anything, staring Logan’s way for another long moment before turning back into his apartment, swaying his hips as he moves.

“… _fuck_.”

He’s back the next day, in his tight shorts. Stretching on his balcony, as Logan watches from the window. He moves through his whole routine once more, shooting another wink Logan’s way once he’s done.

The two days after that are the same.

The day after _that_ , Logan sleeps through his alarm. He wakes up twenty minutes later than normal, yelps when he sees the time, and stumbles out to his living room just as his neighbor’s going back inside.

Logan makes a point of waking early, after that. He’s already at his window when the man steps outside. Fully, totally, _naked_. He doesn’t look Logan’s way, not at first, just moves through his initial stretches with ease. But then he bends at the waist, and Logan’s blessed with a view of that ass in all its glory.

His coffee mug falls from his hand, but Logan pays it no mind, even as the warm liquid seeps through his socks.

His neighbor is _naked_ , doing yoga, in full view of Logan’s window. That glorious ass is on full display, and Logan’s probably drooling as he watches the stretching.

It’s _obscene_ , really. Anyone could look outside, the man’s balcony must be within full view of at least ten other apartments. But this show is all for Logan, he just knows it. At the end, on his final stretch, his eyes finally turn to the blonde. His lips quirk into a smirk, and he raises one hand.

The motion is clear. He’s gesturing for Logan to come over, crooking his finger with clear intent.

Logan doesn’t bother pulling on a shirt.

He knocks on the man’s door in just his socks and sleep pants, his hair still messy from sleep. It’s still more than his neighbor, who answers the door still fully nude, and _oh_ , his ass isn’t the only beautiful thing about him.

“Hey,” the man says, eyeing Logan, “You’ve been watching me.”

“Kinda hard not to. Naked yoga, really?”

“Well shirtless yoga seemed to get half your attention. I wanted all of it.”

“Well,” Logan steps forward, “You have it now. I’m Logan.”

“Julian.”


	27. First Date

“You know,” Julian pipes up, from his place sprawled across the bathroom floor, “This isn’t the _worst_ first date I’ve ever been on.”

Logan raises his head from the porcelain lip of his bathtub and frowns, “How on earth have you had a first date worse than _this_?”

“This one time—“ Julian starts speaking, but then cuts himself off abruptly. Logan has to squeeze his eyes shut when he hears the now-familiar sound of heaving. If he watches, he’ll throw up again too, and he’s not sure how much he even has _left_.

He does manage to scrounge up enough politeness to hand over the toilet paper roll by his knee, and Julian wipes his mouth clean once he’s done.

“Fuck, sorry,” he mumbles, resting his forehead against his arms. His voice echoes into the toilet bowl, “Anyway. This one time, I went out with this guy I met at a coffee shop, right? He seemed nice enough, but then he took me to this Mexican restaurant, and before I could order he told me I wasn’t allowed to get anything with beans.”

Logan frowns a little, thinking about it, “Because he thought—oh my god, it was so he could laid, wasn’t it?”

“Yep. Said he didn’t want me to _make a mess_ later on.”

“Please tell me you didn’t fuck him.”

There’s a long pause, and Logan turns his head to peer at the man curled up over his toilet.

“…it had been a while, alright?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Logan sits up the best he can, trying to ignore the way the motion makes his stomach churn, “Some dude told you not to eat beans at a _Mexican restaurant_ because he was afraid of getting a little shit on his dick and you still slept with him?”

“I make bad choices sometimes,” Julian says defensively, without raising his head.

“Well damn,” Logan murmurs, “Here I was thinking I lucked out getting you to go out with me. Turns out you’ll date any idiot.”

“Not _any_ idiot,” Julian finally turns his head, his watery eyes narrowed Logan’s way, “I’ve been trying to get you to ask me out for _weeks_.”

“Wait, really?”

“My flirting was getting to the point I may as well have just given you a lapdance on the bus.”

“I thought you were just being _nice_.”

Julian snorts, “I’m never nice.”

“Huh,” Logan considers that, for a second, “So I guess I kind of blew it, then, picking a restaurant that gave us fucking _food poisoning_.”

“At least you’re suffering, too.”

“’s worse than when I have allergic reactions, at least I can fix that with a—oh fuck.”

Logan hurriedly shoves his head over the bathtub, groaning as some of his dinner reappears. He can hear Julian make a soft noise beside him, feels the roll of toilet paper nudging at his knee.

“If it’s any consolation,” Julian says lightly, once Logan’s stopped puking, “I thought it was going really well up until the whole vomiting part.”

“Really?”

“I came home with you, didn’t I?”

“You also went home with bean guy.”

“False,” Julian raises a finger, pointing it at Logan, “I hooked up with bean guy in an alley behind the restaurant.”

“Classy.”

Julian blinks, “You have puke in your hair.”

Logan groans. He grabs a towel hanging from the wall, uses it to wipe his face and hair. He’s feeling a _little_ better now, like he may have finally gotten rid of everything he’d eaten.

“How you doing?” He asks Julian, who shrugs a bit in response.

“Been better,” he says lightly, “Been worse, too.”

“I’m gonna try to make it to the kitchen,” Logan says, “I think I have ginger ale in the fridge. It might help with the whole nausea thing.”

“Could you bring me a pillow, too?” Julian asks, “I think I might have to sleep here.”

“I have a perfectly good bed,” Logan suggests, before immediately grimacing at the sound of Julian’s renewed heaving, “With perfectly good pillows, I’ll grab a couple.”

His head spins a little when he stands, but he manages to make it out of the bathroom without collapsing. There _is_ a two-liter of ginger ale in his fridge, and he feels endless gratitude to Derek, who’d brought it over as a possible cocktail ingredient last time he’d come over to watch a football game. He carries it back with him, stopping in his bedroom for a couple pillows and a blanket. Julian isn't moving, when he returns, his head still resting on the toilet seat. Logan nudges him a little, mostly to check that he's  _alive_ , and Julian groans a little bit.

"Pillow," Logan says helpfully, dropping it on the floor beside him, "Blanket, too."

He has enough energy in him to help Julian maneuver down to the floor, sliding the blanket under his head and draping the blanket over him. Julian blinks up at him blearily, his pale lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

"You're sweet," he murmurs, curling up beneath the quilt, "I like you."

"I like you too," Logan says softly, as he drops to the floor beside him. The cool tile feels fantastic against his skin, and he understands Julian's desire to sleep here. Especially when his stomach churns again -- quick access to the toilet is an absolute godsend right now.

When Logan wakes, his face his buried in soft strands of brown hair. He blinks a little in confusion, pulling away to stare. He must've fallen asleep here, at some point, wound up scooting closer to Julian in the night. He moves away, forces himself to sit up and take stock of how he's feeling. It's considerably better than last night, thankfully -- his head is throbbing a little, and his stomach is still uneasy, but he's pretty sure he's not in danger of throwing up again.

Julian groans when Logan moves, rolling over and blinking up at the ceiling.

"Better?" Logan asks, trying to keep his voice soft.

"Think so," Julian says, slowly, "Not great, still, but I'm pretty sure I can actually stand up now."

He still balances against the counter as he tries, sways a little when he gets to his feet. He yawns, stretching his arm over his head, and Logan can't help but be drawn to the sliver of skin that's revealed as his shirt rides up his abs.

"So," Julian continues, "I'm thinking for our second date, we should probably avoid food altogether."

Logan's mouth falls open, "Wait, you're actually willing to go out with me again? After  _that_?"

"Well, you watched me puke for a few hours and you're  _still_ checking me out," Julian says, "Figure that's probably a good sign."

"Wow. Well...yeah, no food. Agreed."

"Good," Julian nods, "I'm gonna go home. Shower. For a long time. Sleep more, probably. But Friday, maybe? We could go catch a movie?"

"...Friday sounds good."


	28. Nerd!Logan

“Look, all I’m saying is that the whole Marvel vs DC debate is a lot more nuanced—“

“It’s _not_ , though, Marvel is clearly superior.”

“With movies, sure, but DC’s got the better track record on tv shows _and_ comics. Just because Marvel’s getting all the attention with the MCU doesn’t make it _better_.”

“Please, they clearly win with comics, too.”

“They absolutely do not.”

Logan rolls his eyes, pauses to adjust his thick-framed glasses and leans forward, “You’re really gonna tell me that DC has better comics than Marvel? _Really_?”

Elijah flails a little bit, nearly knocking over the bottle of Mountain Dew beside him, “Marvel’s best characters are a total rip-off from DC. Deadpool? _Totally_ Deathstroke. DC had the whole team thing going on way before X-Men. That’s not even mentioning—“

“Just because DC had similar concepts first doesn’t make it _better_.”

“Superman! Batman! Wonder Woman! They’re _icons_ , Logan!”

“They’re cliche,” Logan says firmly, “Why do you think they haven’t transferred over to screen well? Marvel’s heroes are _real people_ , not these overly-powered one-note figures with bland personalities.

Toby looks like he might have an aneurysm. Elijah’s just staring, wide-eyed. Marvin looks amused — Logan knows he falls on the Marvel side of the debate, too.

But their argument is derailed as someone nudges at Logan’s shoulder, and Logan obediently slides back in his chair to make room for his boyfriend. He lifts his arm, waits for Julian to settle into his lap, then winds his arms around the boy’s waist.

“Have fun in theatre club?” He asks, as Julian pecks his cheek, “Thought you weren’t supposed to be done for another hour?”

Julian shrugs, “It got boring. So I left.”

“Hey, let’s get the boyfriend’s input,” Elijah says, turning to Julian, “Where do you stand on the Marvel vs. DC debate?”

Julian blinks, “Did you _see_ the abomination that was _Suicide Squad_?”

“It’s not _just_ the movies! There’s whole _worlds_ on both sides, from movies to television to comics to novelizations…”

Julian peers at the boy, looks up at Logan for a moment, then turns back to the others.

“But did you _see_ the abomination that was _Suicide Squad_?”

A series of groans echoes around the table. Julian shrugs a little, leaning into Logan’s chest. Logan can’t help but laugh at the reaction, and he drops a kiss to the top of Julian’s head. It makes the boy smile, and he nestles closer, rubbing his cheek against the soft knit of Logan’s sweater.

Logan doesn’t miss the looks aimed their way.

He knows what this looks like — Dalton’s resident celebrity sitting in the lap of the co-president of the Card Club. He’d been a little shocked himself, upon finding out that Julian’s playful mocking was his way of _flirting._ That he stole Logan’s sweaters not because he was offended by the loud patterns, but because he liked wearing Logan’s clothes. That his continued invitations to dinners weren’t just him trying to make friends, but him asking Logan on _dates_. It had taken Derek literally slapping sense into him for Logan to figure it out.

 _“Oh my god, dude, he wants to bone you. Julian Larson wants you to bend him over a hard surface and talk nerdy to him. I know you’re blind, but I didn’t think you were_ blind _.”_

Still, after a full _year_ of dating, Logan finds it a little impossible to believe. But Julian seems happy, and _Logan’s_ happy, so screw what everyone else thinks.

Besides, he loves when Julian slides into his lap like this. When Julian steals Logan’s glasses and sweaters, the way he smiles when Logan gets too excited talking about _Lord of the Rings_ or _Star Trek_.

He loves _Julian_.

“See?” Logan says, when he can finally pull his eyes away from his boyfriend, “Julian agrees with me. Marvel’s way better.”

The other boys roll their eyes.

“Please, he _has_ to agree with you. It’s not like he actually knows anything about Marvel _or_ DC.”

Logan can feel Julian stiffen in his arms. He tries to squeeze Julian’s waist, tries to hold off the inevitable and epic bitchy take-down he can feel coming.

But Julian surprises even _him_ when he speaks next.

“I’d like to think I’d know a little bit,” he says, “Especially since I’ll be _in_ the next DC movie.”

The table goes silent.

A bite of burger falls out of Marvin’s mouth.

Toby chokes on his french fries.

Elijah just stares, his eyes wide.

“Wait—“ Logan blinks, tilts his head to look at Julian, “You…but you… _when_? How? Which one?”

Julian beams winningly, shoots a pointed glance at the boys across the table, “Can’t say. Not in present company. There’s the whole confidentiality clause, you know.”

“Logan would tell us,” Elijah says, “He’s our friend, he’d _totally_ tell us.”

“Not if he still wants to get laid, he won’t.”

“ _Logan_!”

Julian gives Logan that _look_ , and Logan shrugs over at the other boys, “Sorry. Kind of a compelling argument there.”

“Not that you three would understand,” Julian says, smirking, “But I’m pretty good at the whole sex thing, and I’m sure Logan would like to continue getting laid on a regular basis.”

The others look briefly offended, but they really don’t have a counter-argument.

“Wait—“ Logan says, his mind still reeling, “You’re really—you’re gonna be in a DC movie?”

“Signed the contract this morning,” Julian says brightly, “Sorry it isn’t Marvel, but I really liked the script.”

“ _You’re_ gonna be in a _DC movie_.”

“That’s right.”

“My _boyfriend_ ,” Logan continues, “In a _DC movie_.”

“We can totally figure out which one,” Marvin says suddenly, from across the table, “They have all their projects scheduled. I’m sure we could narrow it down.”

“There’s _Gotham City Sirens_ ,” Toby suggests.

“Female-led. He’s too big of a name for a bit part. Right?”

Julian looks mildly pleased, “That’s right.”

“ _Aquaman_?”

“Nah, filming already wrapped.”

“ _Wonder Woman?_ The sequel, I mean.”

“They announced the cast _ages_ ago.”

“ _Flashpoint_?”

“Maybe, if — oh my god.”

Toby’s eyes widen, suddenly, and he looks up at Julian.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he repeats, under his breath, “You’d be _perfect_.”

“Perfect for what?” Elijah asks, frowning, “They already have the Flash.”

“Not him,” Toby says, still staring at Julian, “Do you remember the article that came out last week? The casting rumors for—“

“Holy _shit_ ,” Marvin suddenly says, slamming his hand on the table, “They didn’t—oh my _god_ , I can’t believe it.”

“Believe _what_?” Logan asks, frowning at them, “What do you three know that I don’t?”

Julian’s snickering a little, and Logan’s confusion only grows.

“ _Dude_ ,” a voice suddenly chimes in from Toby’s open laptop - Logan had forgotten that they’d called Han for his input on the earlier debate, “ _Your boyfriend is playing Dick Grayson_.”

“What?” Logan frowns “No he’s—no.”

He looks down at Julian, who can barely hide the tiny smile.

“You’re not—“ his voice breaks a little, and he has to swallow, “You’re playing _Nightwing_?”

Julian’s eyes sparkle. He brings a finger to his lips, gives Logan a knowing look.

“ _Nightwing_ ,” Logan repeats, “You’re—holy shit.”

“ _There’s already rumors, online,_ ” Han adds, _“That there’s really only one actor in the right age range who fits the physical description, has the gymnastics ability, and the, um—I mean…the_ internet _says the ass is pretty important, too_.”

The other three boys at the table appear to be in shock. They’re staring at Julian like he’s a god, at Logan like he’s their hero.

Logan can barely _function_. Julian — his _boyfriend_ — is playing _Nightwing_. He’s not going to be able to _survive_ this.

Julian, for his part, just looks smug. He hasn’t violated his confidentiality clause, technically, hasn’t actually confirmed his role in the movie. Still, though, he’s managed to break every single nerd at the table.

“You done with that?” He asks, reaching for Logan’s food before he can answer, “I’m _famished_.”


	29. Medieval!Jogan

Julian belongs to Clavell.

Logan knows it. Has always known it, from the first moment he stepped foot in the palace.

Still, he hates the sight of Clavell’s hands on Julian’s skin. The possessive gleam in Clavell’s eyes as he tracks Julian’s movement actors the room, as he beckons Julian his way. He hates the _uniforms_ Julian’s forced to wear, the ridiculous facsimiles of an outfit he’s put in every morning. It’s just gotten more obscene, each day Logan’s been here.

And today might be the worst of it.

Logan nearly chokes on his wine when Julian appears midway through the feast, his lithe body completely bare of fabric, draped instead in strategically-placed ropes of pearls and rubies. He fully understands the effect he has on the crowd, struts through the room with swaying hips and a pleased smirk on his face.

But his eyes are empty.

Nobody seems to notice.

Nobody but Logan looks at Julian’s face that closely, nobody sees the way he looks almost _sad_ beneath the beautiful jewels.

He watches Julian cross the room, holds back a grimace as Clavell pulls the smaller man into his lap. He’s always so _handsy_ during these dinners, his large palms cupping Julian’s thighs, his hips, his ass. It’s a clear sign of ownership, the way he touches him, and it makes Logan’s stomach churn.

 _“He’s his slave,”_ Lord Seigerson had whispered, their first night in Clavell’s palace, _“The son of a noble family from the next kingdom over. Clavell saw him. He wanted him. He took him_.”

It’s not the reason they’re here. The other High Lords don’t approve of Clavell’s continuing use of slaves in his lands, of course, but they don’t presume to have any authority over how he chooses to rule. Logan’s been told to ignore this, to focus on the mission at hand. He knows the importance of his task, of course; if the rumblings and rumors are to be believed, Clavell’s preparing his armies for something big. Something dangerous. _That’s_ Logan’s mission — to determine whether or not Clavell is plotting to overthrow the other Lords.

But _gods_ , Logan hates it. Hates the flicker of discomfort on Julian’s face when Clavell’s hands touch him, the hesitation in his step as he’s dragged off as soon as Clavell’s finished his meal.

 _“He’s treated well_ ,” Derek promised, when Logan begged him to probe into the matter, “ _The other nobles are jealous, really. Clavell keeps him in the finest silks and jewels. He shares his chambers…”_

_“But does he want to be there?”_

Nobody had been able to respond to that question.

Logan alone knows the answer.

“It’s late,” he says, later that night when the robed figure steps into the garden, “Is it safe for you to be wandering about the grounds like this?”

Julian floats closer, the moonlight illuminating that beautiful face. There’s a dark bruise at his neck, and Logan’s eyes fix on it.

“He was relentless, tonight,” Julian says softly, moving to the stone bench and sitting down gingerly, “I’ve never known him to last so long…”

“He hurt you.”

“Not badly,” Julian promises, though he doesn't move away as Logan’s fingers brush against the darkened skin, “I’ve had worse.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Julian’s lips quirk, the smallest hint of a smile gracing that beautiful mouth, “So noble, aren’t you? Trying to protect a slave from his master.”

“No man deserves to be kept the way he keeps you.”

“Not every man has a choice.”

Logan’s hand shifts, coming around to gently cup the back of Julian’s head. The man leans into the touch, his eyes drifting closed at the gentleness.

“I could take you away from here,” Logan says, “I could save you from all this. Find a place for you in my own palace…”

“You’d start a war. The very thing you’re trying to avoid.”

“But I’d have _you_.”

“So I’d trade one captor for another, is that it?”

Logan frowns, “No…no, I don’t mean like…you wouldn’t owe me. I wouldn’t _own_ you. You’d be free.”

“Free,” Julian tastes the word on his tongue, “I can barely remember freedom.”

He stands, suddenly, and Logan’s left alone on the stone bench, his outstretched hand lingering in the air as Julian’s bare feet move across the grass. It’s begun to mist a little, the softest echo of a rainfall in the air. Julian’s head tilts toward the sky, his jeweled hair shimmering in the starlight.

He’s breathtaking.

“Tell me,” Logan begs, “Tell me what to do. How to help. Anything, Julian, I—“

“Stop him.”

Julian’s voice is firm, even as his face remains the very picture of calm. He stretches his arms forward, twists his wrists and stands palm-up, as if he’s trying to catch the raindrops in his hands.

“Stop him,” Logan repeats, standing and moving behind Julian. He doesn’t touch him, still, can’t bear the thought of ruining the flawless picture before him.

“You’re right about him,” Julian says, softly, “About his armies. He’s getting too greedy. Too power-hungry. He wants the outer lands first, he plans to force the people along the borders to serve in his army.”

Logan curses under his breath, “I’ll write to my father, then, we’ll find a way—“

“You can’t,” Julian turns, his eyes snapping open, “He has spies everywhere. He reads all your letters. He has people reporting to him everywhere. You can’t write to anyone.”

“Then I’ll find another way. There has to be some way.”

“The other nobles fear him,” Julian says, “They don’t believe in his plans. But they’re too frightened of him to stop it. If you can weaken him, if you can convince the others there’s another way…”

There _is_ another way, Logan knows.

A way to exert his own control, a way to remove Clavell’s influence once and for all. A way to rescue Julian, to stop the oncoming war.

“I’ll take care of it,” he promises, bringing both hands to cup Julian’s face, “I swear to you, I’ll take care of him.”

Julian doesn’t pull away, this time. Instead, he brings his own hands up, circles Logan’s wrists with his fingers and stares up at him.

“You’d be kind to me, if I was yours,” he says. It’s not a question, “It wouldn’t be like this. We’d be happy.”

“We _will_ be happy,” Logan corrects him, “I promise you.”

Julian’s eyes are still sad, even as he leans up, as he presses the softest of kisses to Logan’s lips.

“Just stop him. For me.”

It isn’t a smart plan.

It isn’t well thought-out, or planned at all really.

But Logan’s always been the type to make rash decisions, and no amount of urging from his advisors can stop him. The room goes silent when he bursts in, the men of Clavell’s council frowning as a foreign lord throws the doors open.

Clavell himself looks only moderately annoyed, leaning back in his gilded chair and leaning his chin on one hand.

“Can I help you, Lord Wright?” The man drawls, looking somewhat bored at the intrusion.

The room fills with whispers, as Logan unbuckles one leather glove. He keeps his eyes fixed on Clavell’s, his lips pressed in a thin line as he throws it at the man’s feet. Clavell seems unsurprised by the challenge. His eyes glint dangerously, and he leans forward.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, voice even, “Your father only has the one son, I hear. I’m sure he’d be remiss if his only heir was lost in a duel of pride.”

“I don’t intend to lose,” Logan spits.

Clavell tuts, then sits up straight, raising his voice, “Julian! Pet, come here, would you?”

He doesn’t break eye contact, as they wait. His eyes bore into Logan’s, his lips curved upwards as a guard ducks through the door to fetch his master’s concubine. There’s the sound of shuffling outside, and then Julian slips into the room, his body draped in sheer white silks. He steps past Logan, his eyes flickering over the man for just the shortest of moments, comes to a rest beside Clavell’s seat and waits for instructions.

A large hand grips the front of his silks, and he’s yanked rather unceremoniously forward. Logan growls low in his throat as Julian’s knees hit the cold marble floor, as Clavell’s hand twists in his dark curls, as those cold eyes run over Julian’s figure.

“Tell me, Lord Wright, did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see the way your eyes linger on my Julian?”

Logan remains silent. He’s issued his challenge. Anything Clavell says now is meant to rile him up, and he knows it.

“Did you think I would let him roam around the palace unwatched? That I’d let his late night journeys go unnoticed? That I wouldn’t hear of your meetings, of the pretty things you promised him?”

Julian’s trembling, a little, and Logan wishes desperately that he could see the man’s face, that he could give him the smallest bit of comfort. He sees the pull of Clavell’s hand on Julian’s hair, the way Julian has to move into the motion to ease the pain.

“He’s the reason, isn’t he?” Clavell continues, “You’re willing to fight to the death because you think you can have him, is that it? Julian’s _mine_ , Wright.”

He stands up sharply, shoving Julian aside. The boy falls to the side, sprawled across the flooring as Clavell stalks forward. He bends down, picks up Logan’s glove with two fingers, and scowls.

“You may want to write your father a goodbye,” he says, “You won’t live to see another morning.”

He stalks out, bumping violently against Logan’s shoulder as he goes. The other nobles filter after him, most shooting Logan curious glances as they leave. Julian alone remains as he is, his eyes turned Logan’s way. He hasn’t moved from the marble, his limbs akimbo against the smooth floor.

“What are you _doing_?” He asks softly, when the last man has left, “Do you have any idea—he’s _good_ , Logan.”

“So am I,” Logan says, moving forward to pull Julian up. He seems so much more delicate in Logan’s arms now, trembling a little under Logan’s hands, “I can do this, Julian. I can beat him.”

“But what if you _can’t_?”

“Either way, I’m getting you out of here,” Logan glances around, confirms that Clavell hasn’t left any spies behind, “As soon as the duel begins, find Derek. He’s going to get you far away from here. I have a horse ready. Food, supplies to last you long enough to get out of Clavell’s lands.”

“Alone?”

“You _can_ ride, can’t you?”

“Of course I can, but—“

“I’ve written to a cousin of mine,” Logan adds, urgently, “In code, of course. His name is Clark, you’ll find him at the manor in Havensport. He can help you from there. Wherever you want to go, he can help.”

“But—“

“I’ll be okay. I promise. But you need to _leave_. If Clavell knows about us…you need to get as far away from him as possible. You do understand, don’t you?”

Julian’s throat bobs as he swallows, “Yes. I understand.”

The duel is held at high noon.

The servants are silent, as they dress Logan for the battle. He says nothing to them, either, simply waits as they pull on his best armor and tighten the straps. Derek brings in the sword himself, freshly polished, his own features tight with concern.

“You can still stop this,” he says, squeezing Logan’s shoulder, “If you lose, Logan—is he really worth all this?”

“It’s not just about Julian,” Logan responds, as he sheathes the weapon, “But yes, he is.”

“Then I’ll get him out. Everything’s ready. But please, Logan, try not to die.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He isn’t surprised by the size of the crowd. Clavell seems the type for spectacle, the kind of man who requires an audience for his duels. There’s an odd kind of silence around the masses, none of the usual cheering or taunting Logan’s so used to.

He steps into the ring to scattered murmurings, stretches out his arms and stalks to the center. Clavell’s already in place, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight. He’s not the most physically imposing competitor Logan’s faced, but he also isn’t to be underestimated.

“Haven’t changed your mind, then?” Clavell calls out as he unsheathes his sword.

“Have _you_?”

The Lord’s eyes glint dangerously, and he leaps forward without warning. Logan narrowly avoids him, side-stepping quickly and pulling out his own sword before Clavell can regain his footing. He swings his own weapon in a wide arc, manages to maintain his bearing when it clashes against Clavell’s.

He’s going to win.

He knows within moments that his skill outmatches Clavell’s, that he can win this easily. But Clavell plays _dirty_ , and Logan has to contend with the man trying to trip him, kicking dirt in his face and taunting him as they move across the field.

“You really thought you could whisk him away?” He snarls, “You really thought you could take what’s _mine_?”

“What you _stole_ , you mean?” Logan rushes forward, and Clavell hisses when Logan’s blade nicks his thigh, “You _kidnapped_ him.”

“And I had him in my bed every night since.”

Logan sees red. He whips around, swings his sword with all the strength he can muster and hits Clavell solidly in the chest. It throws the man off his center, and he stumbles, his sword arm falling behind him. It’s enough to give Logan the solid upper hand, and he knocks Clavell to the ground with another solid blow.

The man’s sword clatters out of his hand, and Logan points his own directly at the man’s throat.

“You’ll never have him again,” he spits, “You’ll never _see_ him again.”

Despite his position fully at Logan’s mercy, Clavell smirks. His eyes look somewhere past Logan’s shoulder, “Are you sure about that?”

He won’t turn.

He _knows_ Clavell is trying to distract him. Julian’s _gone_. Derek had made sure of that.

So Logan steps forward, presses the tip of his blade forward just short of drawing blood, and looks the man in the eyes.

“You’ll never speak to him again. You’ll never _think_ of him again. You _do_ understand that, don’t you?”

“Too much of a coward to kill me, are you?”

“I’m not you,” Logan says, “I know the repercussions of killing someone of your status. But you’re going to change how you run things here. You’re going to cooperate. Negotiate. Do we have an agreement?”

Clavell’s eyes narrow. But he’s already lost.

“I suppose we do.”

Logan extends a hand. Clavell takes it, pulling himself up. He turns away, stomps off the field the same way he’d entered. Logan can’t help but smile as he looks across the crowd, though his expression fades a little when he sees Julian hurrying his way.

“You have to _leave_ ,” Julian says urgently, “Right now, Logan, we have to get far away from here.”

“You’re supposed to be gone already,” Logan frowns in confusion, “Derek was supposed to—why are you still _here_?”

He reaches out, but Julian brushes him off, eyes wide with fear, “You should have killed him. You should have—you have no _idea_ what you’ve done. You need to leave right now.”

“Julian, I won. It’s over.”

“It’s not over. It will _never_ be over, don't you see that?”

Logan opens his mouth, but Clavell’s voice rings across the field, filled with rage.

“He’s right, you know,” Logan turns, his blood growing cold when he sees the loaded crossbow in the man’s hands, “You really should have killed me.”

He seems to move in slow motion. Logan’s frozen, as Clavell aims his weapon. As his hand moves on the release. He sees the flash of the arrow, moving his way. Feels hands shove at him _hard,_ hears the loud cry from Julian’s throat.

Time speeds up again as Julian crumples to the floor.

“ _No—_!”

Logan drops to his knees, reaching forward desperately. He pulls Julian closer, clings to his shaking body.

“Julian,” he chokes out, “Oh my god, Julian…”

The end of the arrow protrudes from the center of his chest. The amount of blood flowing from his wound is _horrifying_.  It's too much.

He can’t survive this.

“Julian—I’m so sorry, I should’ve…oh _god_ …”

He feels so horribly _helpless_ , with Julian's body in his arms. A trickle of blood spills from between his lips. Logan can see the light fading from those dark eyes, the way the color drains from Julian’s face.

He should've killed Clavell.

He should've made sure Julian left, made Derek swear to drag him out if necessary.

He should've thought this plan through.

This is  _his_ fault.

Logan can’t move, as Julian dies in his arms. Not when he hears Derek’s panicked voice calling out to him, not when the noise of the crowd grows steadily louder.

He’s frozen, as the familiar click of an arrow slotting into place reaches his ears. As Clavell aims the crossbow once again.

All he can manage is two final words, whispered to the boy he’d fought so hard to save.

“ _I’m sorry.”_


	30. Lifeguard!Julian

The lifeguard is a _babe_.

Like, Logan’s seen attractive men before. He’s been on dates with attractive men before. He’s had his dick _inside_ _of_ attractive men before.

But this guy puts all those other men to shame.

“Dude, stop staring,” Derek hisses, reaching out to smack Logan’s arm, “It’s getting creepy now.”

“It’s not like he’s even looking this way.”

“I’m serious, _I’m_ getting uncomfortable. Either go talk to him or stop it already.”

“I can’t just go up there and talk to him,” Logan argues, finally turning away from the lifeguard tower, “Do you know how often he probably gets hit on? I’ve seen _twelve people_ go up to him in the half-hour we’ve been here. He’s trying to _work_.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Derek deadpans, “He’s also staring at _you_ now.”

Logan’s head whips around so fast he nearly gets whiplash. He actually can’t _tell_ if the lifeguard is looking at him. He’s definitely shifted a bit, in his stance, his face now turned Logan’s way. But his oversized sunglasses block out his eyes, and Logan can’t figure out if the guy’s looking his way or specifically looking at _him_.

Fuck, he’s beautiful. He’s leaning up against the guardrail of the tower, one long leg bent at the knee. His bright red swimsuit is a bit shorter than may be strictly necessary, the hem falling just above mid-thigh. He’s stripped off his shirt in the summer heat, showing off an even golden tan that makes Logan’s mouth water. Even behind the large sunglasses, it’s easy to see the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline. The kind of face that should be plastered on magazines and movie posters, not standing guard at a beach full of rich teenagers.

Just as Logan’s working up the courage to approach the guy, someone else strides up to the lifeguard stand. Logan huffs out an angry breath, watching as the (admittedly attractive) brunet leans close. The god at the lifeguard stand looks down at the man, and his lips quirk into a slight smile.

“You lost your chance, man,” Derek says, “At least now we know he’s into dudes, though.”

“Please,” Logan scoffs, “With an ass like that, he _has_ to be into taking dick.”

“And you get on _me_ for objectifying women.”

“At least I’m not saying shit like that _to_ him like you do with girls.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “I’m not that bad. Anymore, at least.”

Logan shrugs, his eyes darting back to the man hitting on the lifeguard, “I’m totally hotter than that guy, right? Like, he’s kind of scrawny.”

“Yeah, I’m not about to validate you when you wouldn’t even _talk_ to the guy.”

Derek heaves himself up off his towel, and Logan cringes away when his feet kick up a cloud of sand. He grabs the boogie board they’d brought with them, nods at Logan once as he heads out to the waves.

Logan refuses to look back at the lifeguard. He’s better than that — better than staring wistfully after some guy like a dozen other beach-goers. He’s been on dates with male models, for goddsake. He’s not some kind of pathetic teenager lusting after a lifeguard like some kind of horrible porn cliche.

So he buries his head in his arms, instead, keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his own towel. He’s got music playing softly on his phone, and he’s going to _enjoy_ this day, goddamnit it.

When a shadow falls over him, he doesn’t bother looking up.

“Still can’t find any good waves, D? I already told you, you’re not gonna get much on this side of the island.”

“You can before a storm, usually,” says a decidedly _un_ familiar voice, “He did wipe out pretty hard a minute ago though, you missed some funny shit.”

Logan takes a breath before raising his head. He looks up at the lifeguard, trying to keep his face and voice even.

“He’s normally more athletic,” Logan says, “Not super great at anything ocean-based, though.”

“As long as I don’t have to go rescue him,” the lifeguard says with a grin, “I’ve got a damn good record going for the summer so far, I’d hate to ruin it with some pretentious show-off nearly drowning.”

“He’d insist on having a female lifeguard give him CPR, if he needed it. Somehow.”

“And you?”

Logan hesitates, “What about me?”

“Would _you_ insist on a female lifeguard?”

“…no. You’re more my type, actually.”

“Well in that case,” the lifeguard plops down in the sand beside Logan, “I’m Julian.”

“Logan.”

“You know you’re starting to get a little pink, Logan?” Julian says, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen at the edge of Logan’s towel, “Let me help you out.”

Logan can’t help but shiver as Julian’s hands touch his skin. His fingers rub at the blonde’s shoulders, working the lotion into his skin.

“Should you uh…be helping me out like this? Don’t you have people to watch? Lives to save?”

Julian chuckles a little. It’s a nice sound, “We do get breaks, you know. Besides, Casey and Josh can cover my area for a few minutes.”

He gestures at the neighboring lifeguard stands, but Logan doesn’t bother following his pointing. He’s a little distracted by the hand still on his skin, the way Julian moves in a slow circle down Logan’s back. Low, reaching just to the waistband of his board shorts…

“There we go,” Julian says suddenly, pulling his hands away, “You should be good now. Wouldn’t want that pretty skin to get burnt.”

Logan props his chin on his hand, “Do you always flirt with guys on the job?”

“Only if they’re hot,” Julian says, with a bright grin, “Especially if they spent the whole morning eyeing me like you did.”

“I wasn’t eyeing you.”

“Oh? Just intently interested in the architecture of the lifeguard tower, then?”

“Maybe.”

“Well then,” Julian pushes himself to his feet, “Sorry for misinterpreting. I’ll leave you to…enjoy the architecture, then.”

He turns away.

“Wait!” Logan blurts, and Julian looks over his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever…go on dates with guys you meet on the job?”

Julian lowers his sunglasses, and his dark eyes skim down Logan’s body, “I haven’t, yet. I could maybe be persuaded.”

“Alverado’s, then?” Logan says, naming the fanciest restaurant on this side of the island, “At seven?”

“I’ll be there,” Julian says, “See you then, Logan. Try not to get too burnt beforehand. Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable. I put out on the first date."

 


	31. Star Wars

The wad of cloth in Logan’s mouth tastes like dust. He tries to loosen it, shakes his head from side to side in an attempt to move it just a little, to give him enough room to scream. But the man who’d tied it must’ve secured it perfectly tight behind his head, and his hands are too firmly bound behind his back to be much help. He takes to glaring at the group before him instead.

The stocky man who’d tied him up glares right back, eyes fierce as he examines Logan. He murmurs something to another boy beside him, who nods at him before walking away. There’s a smaller boy, too, one who looks a bit nervous about this whole situation, and Logan shoots him the angriest look he can muster. The boy squeaks a little, withdrawing behind a taller figure beside him.

A woman walks in next, her stride fierce and authoritative despite her young-looking appearance, and the first man whispers something to her. She looks over at Logan, her eyes assessing, and moves forward.

“Logan Wright? Is that your name?”

Logan glares.

“I’m Vice Admiral Sydney Willis. I’m sure you’ve realized by now that you’re our political prisoner.”

She strides over, two men flanking her as he moves to stand in front of him. She nods at one, and he reaches forward, loosening the knot behind Logan’s neck and pulling the damp cloth from his mouth.

Logan lets out a stream of cursing, and the woman just watches, waiting for him to tire himself out. She seems only mildly annoyed by his threats, like he’s more of a nuisance than a legitimate danger.

“We’re not like you,” she says, once he’s fallen silent, “I don’t believe in executing political prisoners just for the shock value. You’ll be treated well here, provided you don’t stir up any trouble. Seigerson and Bancroft will show you to your new quarters.”

Logan’s unceremoniously yanked up again, each arm held by one of the men who captured him. They lead him down a long hallway, drawing stares from everyone they pass. Eventually, he’s pushed through a narrow doorway, and the shorter man hands him a small cloth bag.

“You might want to change,” he says drily, “People around here won’t be too happy about someone walking around in Imperial clothing.”

“Thought your boss said I’d be treated well?” Logan retorts, “Do you normally shove your friends into prison cells?”

“Not a prison,” the man says, “These quarters are just the same almost of us have. Granted, _mine_ aren’t locked from the outside.”

He smirks, retreating through the door. It closes with a quiet _snick_ behind him, and Logan growls.

His father’s going to lose his goddamn mind when he finds out. Not like he actually cares about Logan’s well-being, of course — but for the son of an Imperial Commander to be kidnapped, to be captured by a group of teenagers from the Resistance? It’s a disgrace. John wouldn’t stand for it. This whole damn ship is going to blow up, and Logan’s not sure his father will bother getting him off of it first.

He does change into the clothes the pilot had thrown at him. Not because he cares about the stares, but because the thick fabric of his own form-fitting clothing is making him sweat uncomfortably, and the Resistance-provided clothing looks considerably more loose and flowing.

He’s not really sure what to do after that.

The room they’ve shoved him in doesn’t look prison-like. He’s got a comfortable cot, the necessary appliances to relieve himself, if the need arises. There’s a small window on one wall, and he spends a few minutes watching the movement of the stars outside, trying to see if he can figure out what portion of the galaxy they’re in. But he’d never really paid much attention to galactic geography, and the best he can manage is _somewhere in the sky_.

After a few hours of mindless pacing, there’s a sharp rap on his door.

“Stand against the wall,” a harsh voice commands, “Arms at your side. No sudden movements.”

Logan sighs, but follows the order. He flattens himself against the wall opposite the door, letting his hands hang limply beside him. It’s useless to fight back, he figures — he’s alone on a ship full of Resistance fighters, and he knows he can’t fight them all off.

But then the door opens, and an unfamiliar man steps inside.

He’s not from the group that captured Logan. The man is shorter than Logan by a few inches, considerably slighter and less muscled. If Logan needed to, he knows he’d be able to take the man down without too much effort.

But he doesn’t appear to be a threat. He smiles, as he enters the room, nodding at Logan and setting a metal tray on the table. He’s dressed differently than the others Logan’s seen. While the group that had brought him in appeared to be in some semblance of a military uniform, this man is clad in tight brown pants and a loosely-draped white shirt, an olive jacket resting on top. Small stains cover the ensemble, and it’s not until he moves closer that Logan recognizes the smell as motor oil.

“You’re Commander Wright’s son, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure you already knew that.”

The man doesn’t seem fazed by the disdain in Logan’s voice, “I’m not here to hurt you, you know. I’m here to bring you food.”

“So that’s your job, then? Delivering supper to prisoners?”

“Of course not. I’m a mechanic. We don’t actually have prisoners here often, I’m only here because everyone else was busy.”

“Plotting out how to ask for my ransom, I’m sure.”

The man shrugs, “I’m not sure. I just fix things, they don’t exactly invite me to tactics meetings. I’m Julian, by the way. Not that you asked.”

“I didn’t ask because I don’t really care.”

“You should. I can just _forget_ to bring you breakfast tomorrow, you know.”

Logan scowls, “I’m sure my father wouldn’t be pleased if I starve to death in Resistance custody.”

“I don’t think anyone here really cares what your father thinks. Not exactly a popular guy, around here.”

“Not exactly a popular guy with _me_ either,” Logan snaps. He steps forward, and Julian doesn’t seem perturbed. The food on the tray looks dull and unappetizing, but Logan’s _starving._ There’s a bowl of something creamy and warm, and Logan grabs that, pulling it into his lap as he perches on the cot. Julian doesn’t seem particularly inclined to leave; he takes a piece of bread off the tray, tears it into bite-sized pieces and pops it into his mouth.

“So you don’t like him then?”

“My father?” Logan looks up at Julian, who just stares back, “He’s not exactly the most loving parent.”

“But he’ll come to your rescue, surely.”

“Only so he doesn’t look bad.”

“But you’re his _son_ ,” Julian says, frowning, “You can’t tell me he would just let you die.”

“So you do intend on killing me, then.”

“Of course not. We don’t do that kind of thing here.”

“But you still capture people.”

Julian shrugs, “From what I heard, it doesn’t seem like they planned to. Sounds like you were just in the wrong place at the right time.”

“Lucky me.”

“Anyway, I should probably get going. Feel free to just slide the tray under the door when you’re done. Is there anything else you think you’ll need before morning?”

“Would you even bring it to me?”

“Of course,” Julian frowns, “We aren’t monsters. I could probably sneak you in some Corellian ale, if you feel like drowning your sorrows.”

It’s tempting, but Logan doesn’t really feel like being off his game among strangers, “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Well if you change your mind, there’ll be a guard outside all night. Sweet dreams.”

He smiles again and heads back through the door. Logan watches it close behind him.

Julian’s back again come morning, another silver tray in his hands.

“Have you ever tried coffee?” He asks brightly, ignoring the tired scowl on Logan’s face, “It’s a drink made from _beans,_ of all things, but we just visited a planet that had some and it’s _amazing,_ if you add some milk and sugar.”

“Most of our planets have coffee,” Logan says, grabbing the cup from Julian’s hands, “You’re really supposed to drink it plain to get the full flavor.”

“But it’s so bitter by itself.”

“That’s the point.”

Julian makes a face, obviously disagreeing with Logan’s choice to take the drink plain. He snags a piece of food for himself as Logan drinks, once again tearing into the prisoner’s meal.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Logan snarls, grabbing the tray from him, “Shouldn’t you be fixing Starfighters or something?”

“Nothing to fix,” Julian says, “The only mission they had planned was the one _you_ got captured on, so I have some downtime.”

Logan scoffs, “So what, they don’t even train? That explains why I got motion sick on the ride over here.”

Julian tilts his head, “They don’t need to train, our pilots are excellent. Seigerson’s the one who destroyed your garrison base last month.”

“Even our best fighters train,” Logan retorts, “My father doesn’t even authorize a mission unless all his pilots have at least a hundred-fifty hours of flight time.”

Julian seems disinterested, “Well. You’re still losing.”

“Are we?”

“What, you don’t pay attention?”

Logan shrugs, “Look, I’m sure you all want me to fit your stereotype of a steadfast Imperial lackey, but I really don’t give a shit who’s in charge. I mostly just want to be left alone.”

“You could always join us,” Julian suggests, “We’re not so bad.”

“I think I’ll just wait and see who actually wins, thanks.”

“Come on, your life in the Empire can’t be _that_ great.”

“There’s better food, for sure,” Logan says, spooning at the thick gray slush Julian’s attempting to pass off as breakfast.

“Even on the ship you lived on? Getting decent food transported is impossible.”

“We have weekly transports from Barkhesh,” Logan says, pushing the rest of the tray already, “Fruits. Vegetables. Things with actual _color_ , instead of this gray stuff you keep passing off as food.”

“It has all the nutrients you need,” Julian argues.

“Sure, but at what cost?”

“Maybe you’re just spoiled. Besides, is good food worth loyalty to an organization that kills innocent people?”

“My father’s an Imperial Commander, it’s not like I have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

“So you believe in everything your Resistance does, then?”

“I do,” Julian says. He glances down, takes a deep breath, “My…my parents lived on Alderaan.”

“…oh.”

Logan’s not sure what to say to that. He remembers the destruction of the planet, of course. The death of the thousands of people who inhabited it. A great victory for the Empire, his father boasted.

“I wasn’t there, when it happened,” Julian continues, “I was at school on Takodana. If it had happened three days later I’d be gone, too.”

“My father had nothing to do with that order.”

“I know. But it was still the Empire. I’d support any group that tries to get rid of them.”

“It’s not…even some of the Generals don’t support the Deathstar.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?” Julian raises an eyebrow, “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“What else are you supposed to call a weapon that can destroy whole planets?”

Julian looks up, “Any planet?”

“Far as I know. Alderaan was just a test, really. I’m not sure if it’s even ready.”

“So my parents died because of a _test_.”

Logan’s silent. Julian stands, grabbing the mostly-ignored tray from his hands.

“I’ll be back at lunchtime,” he says shortly, sweeping from the room before Logan can react.

Without Julian, Logan has nothing to. He takes to pacing around his room again, counting how many steps he has room for. The room is ten paces long, eight paces wide. The window is roughly twice the size of Logan’s head, the bed just barely long enough to accommodate his tall frame.

It may not be a prison, but Logan sure as hell feels trapped.

He’s laying across his bed when Julian returns.

The door opens, and he jerks up, head swinging to the side. Julian doesn’t say anything as he steps inside, just sets the tray on Logan’s table and leans against the wall.

“Your father’s been contacted,” he says, after an uncomfortably long silence, “If he agrees to evacuate Imperial forces from Illodia, you’ll be returned.”

“Illodia?” Logan asks, confused, “That’s not even a major planet.”

“The location’s strategic, apparently. I don’t ask questions.”

“Has he responded?”

Julian shrugs and steals a grayish cube from Logan’s try, nibbling at the corners.

“What happens if he doesn’t agree?”

Julian raises an eyebrow, “Do you think he won’t?”

“I’m not sure how willing he is to negotiate.”

“Well. I guess we’ll see.”

He doesn’t agree.

Logan finds himself violently woken in the middle of his sleep, dragged by two guards to the same room he’d originally been brought to. Vice Admiral Willis is standing there, arms crossed over her chest, while an older man examines Logan critically.

“Your father,” the woman spits, “Apparently isn’t inclined to withdraw the Empire’s forces from Illodia. A planet that doesn’t even have useful resources. Would you care to explain why?”

“I have no idea why my father makes the choices he does,” Logan says, flatly, “Have you considered asking _him_?”

The Vice Admiral steps forward, but the man beside her rests an arm on her shoulder.

“We need to know what information you have. Anything you might know that could help us negotiate a deal with Commander Wright.”

“Look, I may not like my father all that much, but I’m not spilling his secrets to _you_. You’re keeping me hostage, after all.”

“Oh? So you _wouldn’t_ tell us how many hours your pilots log? That you receive weekly supply transports by way of Barkhesh? That your Deathstar is only in the testing stage?”

“I didn’t…what?”

Logan blinks in confusion. He catches a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, and sees Julian entering the room. He doesn’t quite meet Logan’s eyes, like he’s just the slightest bit ashamed.

“Think we didn’t do our research, when we captured you?” Sydney continues, “Your weakness for pretty men is fairly well-known, Wright. You didn’t think we’d let just _anyone_ into your cell, did you?”

Logan feels sick.

They ask him a few more questions, but Logan can’t focus. Eventually he’s dismissed, led back to his cell by the same guards who had pulled him out. He collapses into his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He’s so stupid.

So unfathomably _stupid_ , blindly giving up information to Julian just because he seemed nice and had pretty hair.

He’s surprised, when Julian steps through the door a few hours later. He sets a tray down, this time with food that has actual _color_.

“We only had one apple in the kitchens,” he says softly, “There’s a piece of chocolate there, too. Something called a carrot?”

“You here to interrogate me again?”

“They made me,” Julian tells him, “I really am just a mechanic. I didn’t know they picked me because…I was just supposed to talk to you. See what I could find out.”

“You think that makes it any better?”

“Look, I’m not saying what Sydney did was right. Or what I did. But we’re not…we’re fighting for freedom. For peace.”

“Are your parents even dead?”

“Yes,” Julian says, “That was true. My parents. My friends. Everyone I ever loved. You have to know all the awful things your side is doing.”

“What about the awful things _your_ side is doing?” Logan snaps. He rises from his cot, takes pleasure in the way Julian backs away from Logan’s towering height, “Kidnapping. Manipulation. Lying, to trick me into giving up information. Do you think _that’s_ right? Do you think I deserve to be locked up like this, to be treated like I’m _nothing_?”

“No,” Julian’s voice is soft, startling Logan into silence, “I don’t think you deserve this.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I have no choice. Because _we_ have no choice,” Julian presses forward, “Don’t you see? We have to _stop_ all of this. All the killing, and the violence, and weapons that can wipe out thousands in seconds. We don’t have a _choice_.”

The thing is, Logan should be angry. He should be _furious_ at being trapped like this, of being interrogated and humiliated like this.

But some part of him understands.

He’s never felt right about what the Empire’s doing. Never understood their tactics and policies, the way they justify all kinds of atrocities. But still…

“…I don’t have anything to give you,” Logan admits, “Even if I…my father was disappointed in me, for never showing interest in his work. I haven’t sat in on a meeting in years. I don’t know anything they’re…I don’t have anything.”

Julian’s quiet, for a moment. His dark eyes stay fixed on Logan’s face, like he’s scanning for the truth behind his words. When he speaks again, it’s quiet but firm.

“Then join us.”

“…join you.”

“That’s right. Fight with us.”

“You’d really let the son of an Imperial Commander fight with you?”

“We let anyone fight for us.”

“Bold move, from a failing movement.”

“We aren’t failing.”

“You sure about that?” Logan raises an eyebrow, “Aren’t you just a _mechanic_?”

“I’m a damn good one.”

For some reason, those words make Logan laugh. Julian looks momentarily surprised by the sound, but his own lips curve into a small grin.

“Am I really going to join a movement led by a bunch of teenagers and _damn_ _good mechanics_?”

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

Logan takes a deep breath, “I suppose…I could be useful.”

“Well, then,” Julian says, eyes glinting, “I’ll just go ask Sydney to take the security off your door, then.”

“Tell her…tell her I know how to decipher their codes. I’m sure they’ve changed them, since I’ve been here. But anything you have now. I could translate it.”

“I’m sure that’ll more than convince her.”

“I do have one condition, though,” Logan says, scooping the shiny red apple from the tray, “Tell her I still want all my meals brought to me by her pretty mechanic.”

“…I'm sure that could be arranged.”


	32. Pianist!Logan

“…and no more of that Debussy shit, alright? Keep it light. Recognizable. Something a little jazzy, but not _too_ jazzy, you know?”

Logan tries to force his lips into a smile. His nails dig red crescents into his palms.

 _He needs this job_.

“Of course. Elevator music, right?”

His manager nods, satisfied, “Elevator music, exactly. Go ahead and get warmed up, we’re opening for dinner in five.”

Logan turns away, moves to his quiet corner or the restaurant and perches on the stool of the piano. His warm-ups are always for _him_ , his fingers tapping out the best parts of his favorite songs as he quietly hums a countermelody. Before long, though, beautifully dressed men and women begin streaming in, and Logan switches to the pre-approved song list.

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate this opportunity. It’s a pretty sweet gig, if he’s honest — sitting at a piano for a few hours each night, doing something he _likes_ and avoiding the typical customer service bullshit so many of his classmates rely on to help pay tuition.

Logan _hates_ customers.

They never bother him, here. Never notice him here, to be perfectly honest. As long as he’s playing, he’s invisible.

It gives him ample opportunity to eavesdrop, to laugh at the pretentious clientele that _Rimaldi’s_ attracts.

The restaurant is nice, of course.The walls are all exposed brick and thick draped fabric, the tables and chairs deep mahogany covered in pristine white tablecloths. It’s dimly lit, with tea lights flickering on every table. They specialize in Sicilian cuisine — absolutely delicious, so long as Logan can avoid the seafood dishes.

The beautiful aesthetic of the restaurant, combined with the ridiculously high prices of the dishes, tends to attract a certain type of clientele. Absurdly rich businessmen and trust fund brats, oil heiresses and politicians. There’s always some conversation that amuses Logan enough to get though a set of _almost-but-not-quite-jazz_ , always a couple of tables that Logan finds his attention drawn to.

Tonight, though, he finds his eyes drawn to one man in particular. From the moment the guest enters the room, he has Logan’s full focus. He’s absolutely _stunning_ , all high cheekbones and golden skin, his hair falling in dark waves over his forehead and his plush lips curved into a permanent smile. He laughs at a joke the hostess, Merril, tells, and the pleasant sound seems to echo throughout the building.

He’s beautiful.

His date for the night is another _man_ , too, which only serves to further pique Logan’s interest. The second man is attractive too, though his own looks are vastly eclipsed by the absolute Adonis on his arm. Logan watches as the couple is led to a nearby table, as the beautiful man takes a seat at the perfect angle for Logan to continue admiring him.

 _I would’ve pulled his chair out for him_ , Logan thinks, a little pettily. He switches songs, something slightly jazzier, and watches as the man smiles at his date.

“So,” he says lightly, in a warm voice a little deeper than Logan might have expected, “Isabel says you’re a lawyer?”

“That’s right.”

The man looks a little taken aback by the short answer, the disinterest in his date’s tone. He frowns momentarily, watching as the man skims his menu rather than make small talk.

“Do you like practicing law?”

“Look, uh…Justin?”

The man’s smile is forced, “Julian, actually.”

“Right, Julian…I’d prefer not to talk about work, if you don’t mind. It’s dull, you know? Difficult to explain, too.”

“Well I don’t know, I’m pretty smart.”

“One of those things, at least.”

The man—Julian—looks as if he’s not sure whether or not to be offended. He shakes his head a little, opens his own menu and skims over the choices. But the moment their waitress approaches them, his date orders for them both.

“Some Malbec, I think,” the man says, before Hope can even finish her greeting, “And some caponata for a starter.”

Julian frowns again, “Oh, I actually prefer wine that’s a little less…dry? And I actually was kind of thinking of trying the arancine…”

“That’s street food,” the man waves a hand in the air, gestures for Hope to leave the table, “Besides, the Malbec pairs beautifully with lamb.”

“I thought this place was known for its seafood?”

“Trust me, you’ll love the lamb.”

Logan wants to _gag_. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone insist on ordering for a date, but this man seems _particularly_ pretentious. Nevertheless, Julian merely sets down his menu, smiles, and tries again.

“So…have you and Izzy known each long?”

The man shrugs, “She’s dating my cousin. I really don’t know her that well. Thought it was kind of weird she wanted to set me up with someone.”

“Oh, yeah,” Julian laughs a little, “She’s set me up on a couple dates recently, actually. Says I need to get back in the game, you know? It’s kind of been a while since I broke up with my last girlfriend…”

“You mean boyfriend?”

Julian falters for a moment, “No, I mean girlfriend.”

His date clears his throat, “Boyfriend.”

“No,” Julian says, more firmly this time, “The last person I seriously dated was a woman. Her name was Casey. We broke up six months ago.”

“Well why would Isabel set us up then?”

“…I’m bisexual?” Julian’s voice is tinged with a degree of confusion, “I swing both ways? Date men _and_ women?”

“Right,” the man turns away as Hope returns with their wine, takes a deep sip from his own glass, “Anyway, Isabel tells me you’re a model.”

“For now,” Julian says, still looking a little perturbed, “Small things, mostly.”

“Catalogues, then?”

“…yes, sometimes.”

“What do you plan on doing after that?”

“I’d like to act, actually,” Julian says. He listens forward, finally looking interested in the conversation, “I’m majoring in performing arts, right now, and—“

“I meant a _realistic_ plan.”

Julian’s stunned into silence. His date doesn’t seem to notice the way he’s offended him, focuses his own attention on the bread basket that’s been left on the table. Julian looks away from the table momentarily, and his eyes catch Logan’s.

Logan’s initial reaction is to quickly look away, but Julian doesn’t appear annoyed at having caught his staring. Instead, he glances back at his date to confirm he’s not watching, and pulls a face Logan’s way, as if to say: _can you believe this guy_?

His fingers never waver on the piano, but Logan _does_ grin a little, mimes gagging as he nods the man’s way. It seems to amuse Julian, and he’s smiling when his date next looks up.

“You know what you should look into?” The man says, through a mouthful of focaccia, “Accounting.”

Julian raises an eyebrow, “Like…tax filing?”

“Among other things. It’s a good career. Stable. Reliable.”

“I don’t think accounting’s really my thing.”

“Oh don’t worry about the math,” the man says, dipping his bread in a dish of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, “All that stuff is computerized now, anyway.”

“I can do math. I am in _college_ , you know.”

“Come on,” the man says, with a chuckle, “ _Performing arts_ isn’t real college.”

 _What the fuck_.

Even _Logan’s_ offended, and he’s double-majoring in Political Science and Macroeconomics.

Julian blinks a few times, slowly, tilts his head in a manner that would send most men running. But his date seems unbothered, and continues blathering on about accounting until their food arrives. Julian looks a little hesitant, when presented with his plate of lamb. It’s still good, Logan’s sure, but it’s definitely not among their top dishes.

His date, though, digs in with ferocity, somehow managing to talk as he shoves meat between his lips. Logan can see Julian’s boredom growing, the way his eyes lose their sparkle and how he picks idly at his meal. He glances around himself, makes sure his manager is nowhere in sight.

Julian looks up at the first few notes of Joplin’s _The Entertainer_. His lips quirk upwards, his eyes shining again as he meets Logan’s eyes. Logan grins back, his stomach fluttering a little when Julian laughs in response.

“The growing economic crisis isn’t _funny_ ,” Julian’s date says with a scowl, and Julian looks back to him.

“Of course not,” he says, “My mistake.”

“Honestly, it’s absurd,” the man continues, “Now we have burger-flippers asking for _fifteen dollars an hour_? Honestly, this country is going down the drain.”

Julian clears his throat, “You know, I usually stick to…lighter topics, on first dates. Favorite movies. Music, that kind of thing.”

“I’m not really a music fan.”

Logan slams his hands down. A loud, discordant noise chime throughout the room, and a dozen or so patrons turn to glare his way. Logan pays them no mind.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he blurts out, staring straight at Julian, “Please don’t tell you’re not into this douchebag.”

Julian’s date turns around in his seat, his brow furrowed, “Excuse me?”

“This is some kind of prank, right? Someone’s paying you to be literally the worst date possible?”

“I don’t believe we asked for your input, Billy Joel.”

“You ordered for him. You belittled his career choice _and_ major. Talked about controversial political topics on the first date. It’s like you’re _trying_ to hit some shitty date BINGO, or something.”

There’s a flutter of movement their way, and Logan glances up to see his manager making a beeline to him, his face red with fury.

“Honestly, though — Julian? You can do _way_ better than him.”

“ _Logan!_ ” The manager snaps, “My office. _Now_.”

He’s aware of the eyes on him as he leaves his piano, as he makes his way across the crowded restaurant and into the claustrophobia-inducing office. Aware of _Julian’s_ eyes on him.

He’s fired, of course. It’s not like he could’ve hoped for a different outcome, after berating one of their customers so publicly. He’s given time to gather his things from the back, and Merril collects his sheet music from the piano, handing the pages over with a sympathetic grimace.

It’s a little chilly outside, when he steps out of the restaurant. The cool air hits his skin, and he takes a deep breath, wondering what the hell he’s going to do now.

“To answer your question,” someone drawls not far away, “No, I absolutely was _not_ into him. I’m offended that Izzy thought I would be, to be quite honest.”

Julian pushes away from the wall he’d been leaning against, zips his jacket up a little more against the cold.

“…still inappropriate to mock him,” Logan says, “Or so I was just told.”

“He deserved it. I don’t even like lamb.”

“Or Malbec, apparently.”

“Confession?” Julian steps closer, “I usually order Moscato.”

“Oh my god, that’s not even real wine. No wonder he had to order for you, you’re hopeless.”

Julian laughs, “Usually I can just distract my dates with cute giggles and good jokes.”

“Would’ve worked on me.”

“Good to know,” Julian smiles up at him, “Look, um…I didn’t actually get to eat dinner. Apparently it’s considered _rude_ to laugh at your date’s expense when the pianist makes fun of him. Do you think you’d like to…”

“There’s a pretty good Mexican place just down the street. I don’t know if they have Moscato, but their margaritas are pretty fantastic.”

“Oh?” Julian grins, “Are you going to order for me, or can I get enchiladas like I want to?”

“Well _I_ just lost my job. So since you’re paying, I suppose the ordering is up to you.”

“Well in that case…” Julian closes the remaining gap between them, looping his arm through Logan’s, “We’re getting _extra_ guac.”


	33. Divorceé!Julian

Logan didn’t expect to like law as much as he does.

His father had pushed for him to go the constitutional route, to get a job at a big-name firm in D.C. and cement his place in the Wright political legacy. But Logan had _actually_ flourished in business law, in drafting contracts and forming new corporations, in dealing with paperwork over people. It’s an ideal situation, for him — working in his own office, setting his own hours.

He’s happy.

Mostly.

“…Logan?”

He knows that voice.

 _God_ , does he know that voice.

He squeezes his eyes shut, sets down the pen in his hand and brings his fingers to rub at his temples for a moment. It doesn’t help the oncoming headache even a little bit. He takes a deep, calming breath, counts to ten before he looks up.

“What are you doing here, Julian?”

His ex looks just the same as he had that day all those years ago, when he’d told Logan it was over. When he broke Logan’s heart, shattering it wholly in his hands.

 _“We can still be friends, Logan_ ,” he’d said, almost sounding as if he meant it, “ _I still want you in my life._ ”

They had tried, for a time. Honestly, actually tried. They’d served as co-best men for Derek’s wedding. Kept things civil, for as long as they could. But then Julian had started dating again, and Logan just couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t _stand_ watching Julian laugh with someone else, kiss someone else, fall in love with someone else.

He hadn’t known how serious it really was, not until the wedding invitation had come in the mail.

He’d skipped it, of course. Spent the night getting ragingly drunk instead, trying desperately not to picture Julian going to bed with his new _husband_ as Logan crawled into bed with a bottle of cheap bourbon.

It’s been _years_ since he saw Julian in person.

But now here he is, standing in the doorway to Logan’s office, just as infuriatingly beautiful as always.

“I need your help, Logan,” Julian says softly, stepping into the office, “I didn’t really know who else to talk to.”

“You have an entire management team,” Logan says, evenly, “Your parents. More friends than I can count. Your husband. Try going to one of them for help. You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t need me.”

Julian’s eyes flash, “ _You’re_ the one who stopped calling. Who avoided me anytime we were in the same goddamn _state_. I wanted to be friends—”

“You knew exactly how hard that was going to be for me.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“We’re not _friends_ ,” Logan cuts him off, “Not anymore. If you need advice on what to buy Sebastian for his birthday, ask someone else.”

He turns back to his papers. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep his eyes off Julian. Part of him _wants_ this, wants back in Julian’s life. But the smarter, more rational part of him realizes just how much that would hurt. He doesn’t want to hurt like that again.

But Julian doesn’t leave. He can tell Julian doesn’t leave, by the silence he hears instead of the sound of his shoes against the carpet.

“…he left me,” Julian says, softly, and Logan’s head jerks up, “Three weeks ago. I wasn’t sure what it meant but…he filed for divorce yesterday.”

Logan doesn’t know what to say, “…Jules…I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“He wants everything.”

“…everything…?”

“The house. The money. Half my fucking royalties. He wants—”

Julian breaks off in frustration, running a hand through his too-long hair. Logan can’t help but feel sorry for him, and he gestures to the chair across from him, waiting for Julian to take a seat.

“Look, Jules, I don’t mean to…” Logan sighs, leans forward on his elbows, “You’re smart. I know you’re smart. You _did_ have him sign a prenup, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Then he can’t do that,” Logan says simply, “If he signed the prenup, you’re safe.”

Julian breaks eye contact, “He’s—we had an infidelity clause written in. It was my idea. Because he…you know how he was when we were teenagers. Kind of player. I wanted to make sure…but now he’s trying to use it against me.”

“Oh my god,” Logan rolls his eyes, “You slept around behind his back? _Julian_ , you’re better than that! Even back when we were dating, you always said cheating was the one thing you don’t think you could forgive.”

“I didn’t fuck anyone else.”

“Then what is he using?”

“i don’t know, specifically,” Julian continues, “He didn’t exactly tell me exactly what. But I…the past few months, it hasn’t…I started drinking, more. I might’ve—once or twice—had a little too much. Kissed strangers at bars. But I didn’t sleep with anyone else, I _swear_.”

“Okay,” Logan considers, for a moment, “You could argue that then, I think. Depending on the language in the prenup of course. If you can claim that it was only meant to deal with sexual infidelity…I can make some calls, find some good divorce attorneys for you.”

“I want you to do it.”

Logan almost _laughs_ , “I’m not a divorce attorney, Jules. I practice business law. You don’t want me helping you.”

“Sebastian hired the best legal team in the _state_. I can’t compete with that.”

“You could with the second best team if he has no actual evidence.”

“Or if I had someone who actually cared,” Julian says, “If I hired a lawyer who fought because he wanted me to be happy. I thought…I thought maybe that could be you.”

Logan just stares.

There’s a tense, awkward silence between them. Julian gnaws at his bottom lip. Logan blinks, slowly.

“…it was stupid,” Julian says finally, “To think that you…I’m sorry for bothering you, Lo.”

He stands, smooths out his shirt and turns away. Logan almost lets him leave.

Almost.

“Wait,” he calls out, and Julian hesitates at the doorway, “I’ll…I’ll do it. I’ll help.”

Julian smiles, _really_ smiles, and Logan feels himself falling all over again.

It’s odd, working with Julian again. Not because he can’t separate work and his emotions, surprisingly, but because he’s so damn _good_ at keeping his feelings out of the case.

The wording in the infidelity clause of the prenup is vague enough that Logan can understand why Sebastian’s lawyers are using it. California law, though, strictly refers to _sexual_ relationships. Logan can use that, he knows, so long as the other team doesn’t have any shocking eleventh hour proof.

“They don’t,” Julian insists, “I _swear_ , I never had sex with someone else while we were married. I wouldn’t do that.”

“If he does have pictures from the bars, though…”

“They’ll only show me kissing people. They wouldn’t just assume that led to anything, would they?”

“He could threaten to leak them,” Logan says, “Happens in high-profile divorces all the time. The spouse gets what they want because they have damning information on the other. It becomes a matter of what you want most — the money, or your public image.”

“…so either way, he screws me over.”

“I’m not saying that’s what he’s going to do. But he _could_.”

Julian sighs heavily, “ _Fuck_.”

His head hits the table with a dull thud, and Logan winces a little.

“Look, do you have any reason to believe that he…what triggered the divorce, do you think?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Julian groans, “Everything was fine, and then one day he was just _looking_ at me differently, and then a few months later he was just _gone_ , and I didn’t hear anything until I got the letter from the lawyers.”

“Well something must have happened.”

“I’m telling you, _nothing_ happened! He just decided he didn’t want me anymore, I guess.”

Julian doesn’t _seem_ like he’s lying.

Of course, Logan’s still not sure he ever really knew the real Julian.

He drops the subject, though, does his best to work up a good argument.

They meet with Sebastian’s legal team on a Tuesday. He coaches Julian as best he can, makes sure he knows what to wear and how to talk, what to say and what to absolutely _not_ say.

When they walk into the room, Sebastian scowls.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” He snaps, making his own lawyer’s eyes widen, “ _Wright_ , seriously?”

Julian doesn’t quite meet his eyes, taking his seat across the table, “I didn’t exactly know any other lawyers.”

“So you Google, Julian. Like a normal fucking person. You don’t call your—god, and you wonder why this didn’t work out.”

Logan clears his throat, “Should we get started, then?”

He’s allowed to present first. He gives the argument he’d prepared, discusses how the terms of their prenup dictated that Julian should retain control to his own bank accounts, how Sebastian signed away any rights to Julian’s income, how Julian’s willing to pay out _some_ , but not nearly as much as Sebastian’s asking for.

It’s a good argument.

But Sebastian’s lawyers don’t even blink.

“We’d like to direct your attention to page twenty-seven of the agreement,” they say, and Logan turns to the page with the infidelity clause, “My client believes _your_ client violated this clause.”

“My client never engaged in any extramarital affairs,” Logan says firmly, “If your client can’t provide proof of his claim, it holds no merit. You know that.”

Sebastian scoffs, from his seat, “I may not have proof, but he knows what he did.”

“I didn’t _fuck_ anyone,” Julian snaps.

“God, you don’t even remember it, do you?”

“Remember _what_?”

“The time you called out _his_ name in bed,” Sebastian slams his hands against the table, his eyes narrowing in anger, “When you came home from that fucking Golden Globes part, _drunk_. When you crawled into bed. When you called out _his_ name, while I was inside you.”

He gestures at Logan, who freezes in his seat.

Julian looks like he’s just been punched.

“I…I didn’t…no. That didn’t happen.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian _laughs,_ “I tried to tell myself that, too. For _weeks_ , I tried to believe I’d made it up. But I couldn’t—until I checked your phone.”

Julian pales in his seat. Remains completely silent as Sebastian pulls a thin stack of papers from his bag, as he slides it across the table. But when Logan reaches for the papers, Julian moves quickly, snatching them away.

“I need to know,” Logan says, trying to keep his voice even, “You hired me as your lawyer, I need to know what he has on you.”

“It’s nothing,” Julian says quickly, pulling the papers aside, “I’ll sign. The house. The money. It’s fine, you can have it.”

“Please, it’s not like he didn’t already know. Like _you_ didn’t know I’d figure it out.”

“I didn’t think you’d hack my goddamn _phone_.”

“Not hard to guess your password. The year you won your first Oscar? Vain, even for you.”

“I’m _agreeing_ , Seb,” Julian says, still holding the papers to his chest, “You win.”

“Julian,” Logan’s patience is wavering now, “Let me see those.”

“You already _have_ ,” Sebastian says.

“No, he hasn’t,” Julian snaps, “He blocked me. He hasn’t…”

“Oh my god,” Sebastian actually looks thrown for a moment, “You mean—wow, you wrote _all that_ knowing he’d never seen it? So you’re pathetic _and_ an asshole.”

Logan can’t _stand_ this back-and-forth anymore, “For the love of god, someone just tell me what those papers are.”

Julian opens his mouth, but Sebastian beats him to it.

“Love letters,” he says, his eyes boring into Logan’s, “To _you_.”

“To…to me.”

“Texts. More of them than I could count. To _you_.”

Logan reaches over, takes the stack of paper from Julian’s hands and scans down the page. It’s print-outs, _dozens_ of them, a long chain of messages Julian had sent to a contact labeled as “L.W.”.

“…I’d like to take a recess,” Logan says, eyes fixed on the messages, “I need to go through this.”

He barely notices as half the room clears out, as everyone ho’s not him or Julian files from the room. He’s focused instead on the messages, on _years_ worth of texts from Julian to him.

“I don’t—stop, please,” Julian begs, “It was just—I needed to get some of my feelings out. I knew you blocked me, Derek said you didn’t want to hear from me anymore. I figured it didn’t matter…”

 

_God, Logan, I miss you so much. I don’t remember why I ended things. Sometimes I look at Sebastian and pretend he’s you, that I did the right thing and stayed with you. That I married you. I wouldn’t be so confused, if it was you._

 

_I wish you didn’t hate me. I wish we still talked. I still want to tell you things, before anyone else. Isn’t that so fucked up?_

 

_I’m MARRIED. Sebastian is great. He buys me flowers. He knows my favorite desserts. He’s beautiful and funny and smart, and I don’t understand why I’m not as happy as I was when I was with you._

 

_I love him. Sebastian. My husband. I love him. But I think I still love you, too._

 

There’s _pages_ , dozens and dozens of messages just the same, of Julian trying to reach out to Logan. He’d never gotten a single one, had blocked Julian’s phone number the day he got the wedding invitation. The day stamped over the earliest text, so many years ago.

_Tell me not to marry him._

Logan’s not aware he’s crying until the first tear hits the paper. He wipes his eyes hurriedly, takes a shaky breath and turns to face the man beside him.

“All this time. All those years, and you…we could’ve…”

“I didn’t know you’d blocked me, when I sent the first one,” Julian murmurs, taking the stack of papers back, “I actually wanted you to…I felt like I was making a mistake.”

“But you still married him.”

“I _did_ love him,” Julian insists, “I do. I just…I think part of me always loved you, more.”

Logan squeezes his eyes shut, “Why did you hire me as your lawyer, Julian?”

“Like I told you. I wanted someone who gave a shit. Who actually cared if my life fell apart or not. Not someone who just wanted a percentage of the money.”

“Why _me?”_

“…I missed you. I thought…it was a good excuse to get you to talk to me again, even if only for a few weeks.”

“Did you expect—did you think that we’d—”

“No,” Julian says quickly, “I wasn’t trying to—I mean obviously I can’t even hold down a _marriage_ , I didn’t show up at your office hoping you’d take me back. I just…wanted to see you again.”

Logan’s migraine is coming back full-force. He sighs, sips at the cup of water in front of him, and turns away from Julian.

“Let’s just get through this, alright?”

Neither side really gets what they wanted.

Sebastian’s _proof_ isn’t exactly in line with the legal definition of infidelity, and even his lawyers know they can’t provide much argument. Logan hadn’t been entirely off-base — Sebastian doesn’t seem particularly inclined to leak the messages, knowing it’ll hurt his reputation as well, but he definitely held some hope that seeing them would embarrass Julian enough to sign whatever paperwork they gave him.

In the end, though, they come to an agreement that works for them both. Julian looks horribly apologetic, after, murmurs something to his now-ex husband that nobody else can hear. Sebastian barely meets his eyes, as he talks, turns away without responding and follows his lawyers out the door.

Logan can’t fault him for his pain. He knows exactly how it feels, to be rejected by Julian Larson.

“He hates me,” Julian says softly, eyes fixed on the door, “I always do this. I always fuck things up, and then the people who actually give a shit wind up _hating_ me.”

“Maybe he’ll get over it.”

“Did you?”

“…I don’t hate you, Julian.”

“But you don’t particularly like me, either.”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

“Logan—” Julian reaches out, but Logan pulls away.

“I think you need to figure out what it is you want,” he says, refusing to meet Julian’s eyes, “You just got divorced, go one of those _finding yourself_ trips, or something. Cave-diving in Bali, cooking lessons in Thailand, hike Machu Pichu. Something.”

“Logan—”

“I’m not going to bill you for this. Consider it a favor.”

He slips from the room, leaving Julian alone.

The file of text messages comes with him.

He manages to get back into the swing of work, well enough. Everyone else in his office thinks he’s _crazy_ , for not charging Julian. He could’ve raked in a cool million, working a divorce case for a high-profile celebrity. But Logan brushes off any attempts at questioning about the case. He wants to get back to his _real_ work, to forget about the case entirely.

But the text messages are burning a hole in his desk drawer.

He lasts three months before he pulls them out, spends a good three hours reading and re-reading them. Wonders what he would have said back, if he’d actually gotten them. If he could have changed anything. If Julian would have gone through with his marriage, if it would’ve been _them_ walking down the aisle together.

But he’d never seen them.

He hasn’t stopped anything.

And he doesn’t know if there’s any going back.

Six months after the case, there’s a soft knock on his door.

“I’m not taking any more calls, Shannon,” he says without glancing up, “Go ahead and go home for the day.”

His assistant doesn’t say anything. Logan figures she’s already walking back to her desk, gathering her things in preparation to leave early, for once. But then there are footsteps coming _closer_ , and a small stack of _something_ hits his desk. He frowns at it, pokes at a brightly-patterned sweater, a smooth stone, a warm take-out box.

“Alpaca sweater,” Julian says, softly, “From hiking in Machu Picchu. I picked up the rock when I went cave-diving in Bali.”

“And this?” Logan picks up the box, opening the lid and inhaling the delicious, aromatic scent of pineapple fried rice.

“…I tried cooking classes in Thailand,” Julian says, twisting his hands together, “I wasn’t very good. They told me I should stick to spaghetti. This is from that Thai place down the street.”

Logan can’t help but laugh, “Don’t those places specifically cater to stupid tourists?”

“We started with Pad Thai, and I burnt the noodles. Then I nearly cut a finger off cutting scallions, see?” Julian holds up a bandage-wrapped finger.

“Did you _find yourself_?”

Julian shrugs, “I don’t know. I had fun, definitely. Got sunburned for the first time. People didn’t recognize me, in some places. It was…nice.”

“And now you’re here.”

“Now I’m here.”

“Can I ask why?”

Julian hesitates, for a moment, “I don’t expect much. Anything. By I…I’d really like it if we could at least be friends, again? I miss having you in my life.”

Logan pretends to consider it. He brings a forkful of rice to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Julian shifts uncomfortably across from him, looking more awkward with each passing second.

“I actually have something for you, too,” he says finally, picking up a small pink box from beneath his desk and handing it over. Julian frowns, as he opens it, stares down at the elaborately frosted cupcake.

“…how long has this been here?” He asks, sniffing at it.

“Picked it up on my lunch break.”

“How’d you know I was coming?”

“I unblocked you,” Logan says, smirking a little, “About three months ago.”

Julian’s eyes widen, “Wait, so you’ve…?”

“Been getting all your texts? Yep. Including the one last night.”

It had come in just before midnight, his phone vibrating on his nightstand and rousing him from his sleep: _I’m flying in tomorrow. I brought souvenirs for you, is that stupid? It’s probably stupid. I really hope you don’t still hate me._

“Oh,” Julian looks mildly horrified, “Um, so then.”

“I don’t still hate you.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

“Look, Julian…”

“Oh god,” Julian grimaces, “I’ll go. I mean, _obviously_ you’re still mad at me. I would be too. I just thought, maybe…”

“Derek’s coming over, tomorrow,” Logan interrupts, “To watch the football game. We always order too much food for two people.”

“Really? You want me to…yeah, sure I’d love to. Should I bring anything?”

“Beer, I guess. Derek’s on one of those weird microbrewery kicks, so if you can find something obscure and hipster he’ll love it.”

Julian smiles, “Cool, okay. Um. I don’t have your address.”

“That’s fine, I’ll just text it to you.”

“Right. Text me. Because you unblocked me.”

“Because I unblocked you.”

Julian’s positively _beaming,_ “That’s…wow. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He stumbles, a little, as he tries to back out of Logan’s office. It’s almost amusing, the bright way Julian’s smiling at him, how _relieved_ he looks to get invited to something as simple as a football-on-tv day. Logan can’t help but smile back, the look on Julian’s face absolutely infectious.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jules.”


	34. Single Dad!Julian

Playing his piano is the one thing that keeps Logan sane. It’s his method of relaxing after a long day of work, the same way his father pours a heavy glass of scotch or the way Michelle visits her salon. The moment is fingers touch ivory keys, it’s like all his stressors vanish. Like there’s nothing in his world other than him and the piano, the sound of the music synced up perfectly to the sound of knocking on his front door.

_Wait._

Logan lifts his hands from the piano, frowning over at the entryway. It’s quiet, for a moment, until another soft knock rings through the house. He stands to answer it, confused about who it might be. He doesn’t exactly know any of his neighbors, and Derek always gives Logan a warning before he shows up.

But it’s not Derek, at the door.

Logan’s sure his eyes go wide, when he comes face-to-face with the beautiful man standing on his doorstep. The dark circles under his eyes only serve to highlight the flecks of gold in the deep brown, and Logan finds his eyes drawn to the full pink lips, the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbones.

Until, of course, the baby in the man’s arm whimpers, and Logan blinks in confusion.

“Um…can I help you?”

“Hi,” the man breathes, and god, even his _voice_ is attractive, “This is really weird, and probably a huge intrusion. But he’s teething, and I can’t get him to stop crying to save my life, but we were walking past your house and the second he heard the piano he stopped and went quiet, and…could we just listen, for a little while?”

It’s an odd request, but something about the man makes Logan want to say yes. He holds the door open, lets the man carry his son inside.

“…so do you live close?”

“Yeah,” the man says, bouncing the baby on his hip, “Two doors down. House with the big cherry tree. We only just moved in. Needed more room for the baby.”

“Right, I think I saw the moving truck. So it’s what, you and your wife and the baby?”

“Just the two of us. His mom and I weren’t really together. The pregnancy was kind of a surprise. She wanted to put him up for adoption, but I really wanted to keep him. She let me.”

“Must be hard,” Logan says, as he sits on his bench, “Single dad and all.”

He starts playing, softly, and the baby gurgles as a quiet lullaby rings out.

“…I’m Julian, by the way.”

Logan smiles, his fingers never wavering, “Logan.”

He keeps playing. Julian and his son are a good audience — Julian stays quiet, holding the baby securely in his lap. The kid, though, seems absolutely _enthralled_ with Logan’s performance. His eyes are wide, his mouth set in a huge smile. Every so often, he shrieks happily waves a tiny fist in the air, never looking away from Logan.

Logan runs through the limited number of children’s songs he knows, shifts into a few stripped-down versions of pop hits.

“Oh my god,” Julian murmurs, halfway through one song, “Is that _Haven_?”

Logan laughs, finally pulling his hands off the keys, “Heard it on the radio the other day. I figured I could turn the guitar as a piano melody pretty easy.”

“Well it worked,” Julian says, glancing down at the baby now sleeping in his arms, “Got him to sleep way better than I ever have. We’ll get out of your hair now. Sorry again, for bothering you.”

“Don’t be,” Logan’s careful to keep his voice soft, wary of waking up the infant, “I like playing. I’m vain enough that I like having a captive audience. I’m glad I could help you out.”

“You really did,” Julian says gratefully, shifting his son on his hip, “Thank you, Logan. Have a good night.”

“You too, Julian.”

He doesn’t see them again, for some time. There are moments, of course, where he’ll go out to check his mail as Julian’s leaving for grocery shopping, or when he comes home from work as Julian’s walking to the park. They’ll share a slight wave and a smile, but neither of them really has any justification to start more than that.

Until the day Julian knocks again.

He looks even more tired than he had the first time, and the baby in his arms is positively _screaming_.

“I’m sorry,” Julian mumbles, looking dead on his face, “But I can’t…it’s been _two days_. He hasn’t slept. I don’t even know if it’ll work again, but—”

Logan ushers him in without a word, leads him to his sofa and starts with one of the softer songs he knows. He’s only a few measures in when the screaming lessens into soft whimpers, and he hums along a little, harmonizing with himself.

The whimpering calms down, soon enough. As Logan switches from lullabies to soft classical music, he looks over. The baby’s calmed a little, his chubby cheek pressed up against Julian’s shoulder as he blinks at Logan with big wet eyes. The father, though, is _out_. His head is tilted back against the couch, his mouth hanging open. Logan tries not to laugh out loud, not wanting to break the calmness his music had brought on.

Halfway through _Clair de Lune_ , the baby finally joins his father in sleep. Logan doesn’t stop playing, not until his fingers grow sore. Neither of them budge, when the music finally stops. Logan rises from his piano, grabs a soft throw blanket from a nearby chair and gingerly drapes it over his neighbors. The baby sniffles a little, but just burrows his small face against Julian’s neck, his little fists curling up in the fabric of his father’s shirt.

Logan leaves them there. He makes his way to the kitchen, frowning at the food in his pantry and refrigerator. He has no idea what Julian might like to eat, if he has any allergies Logan should be cognizant of. He considers spaghetti, briefly, but then remembers the severe gluten allergy one of Derek’s ex-girlfriends had.

But he has a can of black beans in the pantry, some rice, a bag of frozen vegetables — he scrounges up some corn tortillas, decides he can easily make something resembling fajitas. It’s not hard, even for someone as clueless in the kitchen as he is. He fries up some bell peppers and onions, cooks the rice and beans, sets it all on a large plate with the tortillas.

The smell must wake Julian up. Logan hears his movements before he speaks, catches the man mid-yawn as he steps into the doorway.

“I’m so sorry,” Julian says, his son still fast asleep in his arms, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Kind of seemed like you needed it.”

“I did. I didn’t mean to infringe, I’ll get out of here.”

“I made dinner. Wasn’t sure if you had any allergies, or if you were like, vegetarian or anything. But I think this is mostly safe.”

Julian blinks down at the plate, a small smile coming over his face, “No allergies. It smells good, though. But um…”

He turns to look down at his son, and Logan realizes how difficult it’ll be to eat with a baby in one arm.

“We could set blankets down on the floor in the living room,” Logan offers, “You can see it from the kitchen table, if we sit there. He can still sleep, but we can keep an eye on him.”

Julian smiles gratefully. He follows Logan back into the room, helps him make a nest of soft blankets on the carpet and nestles the baby in the middle. He makes a soft sound, and Julian freezes as his arms stretch out, but then he settles back down, his head tilting to the side.

 _“God_ ,” Julian moans around his first mouthful of food, “Do you know how rarely I get actual dinner? Usually it’s noodles with whatever sauce I can find in my fridge. I spend so much time feeding him that I barely think about me.”

“I can only imagine. Being a single parent sounds exhausting.”

“I’m sure you can tell how much by how I passed out on your couch five minutes after I got here.”

“I just considered it a testament to my fantastic musical ability.”

Julian smiles, “You are really good. Decent cook, too.”

“You only say that because you’ve been living off spaghetti for the past few months.”

“Take the compliment, Logan.”

They manage to get through dinner before the baby wakes up. He lets out a soft cry, and Julian immediately turns to him, his voice softening as he coos at his son.

“Hey baby. You have a good nap? You slept so good, I’m so proud of you.”

The baby whimpers a little, raises his little arms until Julian scoops him up and holds him close to his chest.

“I can clean up,” Logan offers, gathering up their plates, “I’m sure you’d like to get him fed, too.”

“And changed,” Julian makes a face as he sniffs at the baby’s diaper, “You sure you don’t mind?”

“ _Go_ , Julian. I can wash a dish.”

“Okay. Thank you, Logan. For everything.”

The next time Logan sees Julian, the man’s in a _suit_. It’s a stark contrast from his usual ripped jeans and baby puke-stained t-shirts. He cleans up _good_ , his runway-chic apparel looking rather out of place on Logan’s front porch. The baby in his arms is quiet, for once, sucking on a pacifier and staring at Julian’s gelled-down hair.

“Hi,” Julian says, looking a little frantic, “I have a…I have no right to _ask_ you for a huge favor, but I need a huge favor.”

“…yes?”

“I have a job interview,” Julian says quickly, “In half an hour. My mom was supposed to watch him, but she must’ve forgot, and she’s not answering her phone, and—”

“Wait, you want me to _babysit_?”

“Please, Logan? I don’t know anyone else nearby. I _need_ this job.”

“I don’t really…I’m not good with kids.”

“I’ll be quick,” Julian promises, “I don’t need you to feed him. I _just_ changed him. If you just plop him down in front of the tv and put on something with bright colors he’ll be fine. _Please_ , Logan. I’d owe you my _life_.”

“…okay, hand him over.”

Julian looks endlessly grateful as Logan takes the baby, who frowns in confusion as he’s put in Logan’s arm. Julian leans forward, his hair brushing Logan’s face as he kisses his son’s forehead.

“I love you, angel. Papa will be back very soon, I promise,” he looks up at Logan, next, “Really soon. I’m driving right there, I’ll drive right back. I swear. Thank you _so_ much.”

“ _Go_ , Julian.”

The man practically sprints to his car, and Logan carries the baby inside. The tiny thing is staring up at him, his little eyebrows knit together in the middle.

“Hey…buddy,” Logan says, awkwardly, “I just realized I don’t actually know your name. I don’t know what to call you. Squirt? Junior? Booger?”

The baby’s mouth falls open, the pacifier falling from his lips and clattering to the floor. He makes a loud sound of displeasure, wriggling a little in Logan’s arms. He’s surprisingly hard to hold onto, despite his tiny size, and Logan frowns down at him.

“Hey no, none of that. I may be doing him a favor, but I’m pretty sure your daddy would kill me if you cracked your little head open on the tile.”

The baby shrieks again, and Logan winces.

“Okay, too dark, I get it. Maybe we could try some piano?” Logan sits down on his bench, setting the baby in his lap, and taps out a cheery melody with one hand. The baby calms instantly, cooing a little as he listens to the music. It makes Logan smile, and he sings along.

One of the baby’s tiny hands raises off his lap, and he presses his fist down against the keys. It’s a loud, unpleasant sound, but the baby makes a happy sound, slams his hand down on the piano again and screams excitedly.

Logan can’t help but laugh at that, and he picks up the baby’s tiny hand, helps him tap out the beginnings of _Twinkle Twinkle_.

“You know this one?” He asks softly, “ _Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are…_ ”

He manages to keep the baby entertained like that for over an _hour_. He barely notices how long they’ve played, not until the knock sounds at the door.

“Hey booger, I think that might be your daddy.”

He’s not sure kids this young can actually understand real words, but the baby definitely seems to understand this much. He gasps, at the word _daddy_ , and his head swivels around to the front door. It’s difficult, keeping a grip on the kid as Logan moves to answer the door. He screeches and reaches for Julian the moment he lays eyes on him, a wide smile spreading across his face as Julian cuddles him close.

“Told you I’d be back,” Julian tells him, kissing his tiny nose, “I’m always gonna be here for you.”

It’s a sweet, touching moment, one that Logan almost feels guilty to interrupt.

“He was very well-behaved,” he tells Julian, “Seemed a little upset when you left, but I managed to distract him with my mad piano skills.”

“Thank you, so much,” Julian breathes, “Really, I was panicking so much, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s fine,” Logan promises, “I am usually _really_ bad with kids, though. For long term stuff, you might want to find someone who knows how to change a diaper.”

Julian laughs, “No worries. I got that job. Might actually be able to afford a real nanny, now. Thanks again. I definitely owe you one.”

He turns to leave, and Logan speaks again before he can talk himself out of it.

“About that, actually—”

Julian looks back, his head tilted in question.

“About you owing me. I was wondering if…when you get that nanny, of course…if you might want to go to dinner with me. I won’t cook this time, I promise.”

Julian smiles, a little, “Like…a date.”

“If you’d be interested in something like that.”

Julian ducks his head for a moment. When he looks back up, his eyes are twinkling, “I might be. If you’d be interested in dating a guy with a kid.”

“Eh, didn’t think it’d be my thing,” Logan says, “But I guess I kind of _like_ your kid. He’s got good taste in music, at least.”

“Well. I guess I’ll let you know when I hire that nanny, then.”

“I’ll be waiting. And if you need any help getting him to sleep, or anything…”

“We’ll come by for some of those _mad piano skills_.”

Julian’s smiling, as he turns to leave. Logan watches him go, a grin of his own plastered across his face. The baby’s watching him over Julian’s shoulder, and Logan almost melts as he raises one tiny hand in a wave.

He practices some new lullabies, that evening.

Just in case.


	35. Detective!Logan

It’s raining outside. A swift, torrential downpour that leaves the street clear of pedestrians, the residents of the city choosing instead to remain safely dry in their homes.

But the young man that slides into Logan’s squad car doesn’t seem bothered. His dark hair drips with water, his shoes squelch against the rubber mats on the floor. He smiles, a little, raising an eyebrow at the detective beside him?

“You bring the stuff?”

Logan rolls his eyes, “I _really_ wish you would stop calling it that.”

He hands over the still-warm coffee cup anyway, watching as Julian inhales the scent.

“Pumpkin spice?” He asks, uncapping the paper cup to lick up the whipped cream as he always does, “I didn’t know they started serving it again.”

“Yesterday,” Logan tells him, “I thought you might like it.”

“I do,” Julian hums happily as he sips at the warm drink, “So. What have you summoned me for tonight?”

Logan opens the manila folder on his lap, hands over the five by seven photograph paper-clipped to the top. Julian takes it carefully, holding it as delicately as he can between two calloused fingers.

“Human trafficking suspect,” Logan tells him, “We have reason to believe he’s heading up the largest ring on the East Coast. Nothing concrete yet, or else I wouldn’t be here. His name is—”

“Clavell,” Julian says thickly, handing the photo back, “Yeah. I know him.”

He doesn’t add anything to that. It’s odd — since Logan’s been working with him, Julian’s _always_ been forthcoming with information. It’s a more than fair deal; Logan had argued with the District Attorney to get Julian’s solicitation record expunged, and he pulls every string to keep the rest of the department off Julian’s back. In return, Julian serves as an informant, passing on names of people Logan’s investigating.

But now, he just stares down into his coffee. He dips his thumb into the cinnamon-topped foam, licking off a bit of cream.

“…can you tell me anything about him?”

“Who?”

“ _Clavell_ , Julian.”

Julian’s quiet, again. He looks up, his eyes rising to the still-raining sky outside. His fingers twitch against the paper of the coffee cup.

“…I can tell you to stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“I’m a _detective_ , Julian.”

“That’s all I know.”

Julian shifts in his seat, his hand moving to the door handle. Logan’s finger twitches against the lock button, and Julian freezes as the lock clicks into place. He tilts his head to the side, not quite meeting Logan’s eyes.

“Am I being detained, _detective_?”

“Of course not.”

“Then let me go.”

“I just need you to tell me what you know about Clavell.”

“What I _know_ is that you’re not allowed to keep me in here unless I’m being detained,” Julian says, his voice venomous, “So I’m asking you again, detective: am I being detained?”

Logan sighs, “No. You can go, Julian. As always.”

He watches the man slide out of the car, winces a little at the harsh slam of the car door. The harsh rain outside hasn’t lessened a bit, but Julian doesn’t seem overly bothered. He looks around as he walks down the street, obviously slightly concerned as to whether he’s been spotted talking to a _cop_. But the street’s deserted save for Julian, and Logan carefully peels out of the alley he’d parked in.

His partner glances up from his desk when Logan returns to work.

“Did he know anything?”

“Yeah,” Logan sighs, tossing his damp jacket over the back of his chair before taking his seat, “He got all weird when I said Clavell’s name. But he wouldn’t actually tell me anything.”

“I could try,” Derek offers, “You know I’m the best interrogator in the district.”

“Do you have any _idea_ how many Starbucks bribes it took to get him to open up in the first place? If a cop he doesn’t know suddenly shows up he’ll never trust me again.”

“Not to be crass, but you put a _lot_ of effort into gaining the trust of a hooker.”

“Sex worker.”

“Criminal.”

Logan shoots him a glare, “He’s helped us close three major cases over the last six months. He’s smart, he just had some bad luck.”

“Sounds like every other sob story we get here,” Derek leans back in his chair, smirking a little, “You totally have a crush on this guy, don’t you?”

Logan rolls his eyes, “I do not have a crush on my informant.”

“I pulled his file. He’s pretty hot.”

“I’m not continuing this conversation.”

He logs into his computer, scans over his email to see if anyone’s gotten any tips on the Clavell ring. There’s a few more leads, a couple people he requests to bring in for questioning. This has the capacity to be the biggest case of his entire career, could possibly give him the break he needs to move to a federal job. He wants to crack this more than anything.

Which is why it’s so goddamn _frustrating_ when he can’t catch a break.

In one week, he and Derek question twelve potential witnesses. Four of them turn out to be mostly dead ends, with no relevant information to share. Another four don’t have much to add to what they already _do_ know. Three give them more names, even more people to look into. One, though, seems absolutely terrified at the mere mention of Clavell’s name.

“He’s a bad guy,” the witness says, eyes wide, “Not just…you know, regular bad. The things he does to people…I don’t want to get on his bad side. Ever.”

“Look, Mr…” Derek glances down at his file, “Smythe. Anything you tell us here is completely confidential. Nobody has to know you told us anything.”

Smythe looks unsure for a moment. He twists his hands together,takes a deep breath.

“…I mean, you already know he’s the head of the whole operation. I’m not sure how many people are involved, but I know it’s a lot. He keeps his favorites close, though. Makes them… _service_ him. It’s disgusting.”

Derek leans forward, “How do you know this?”

“I know a guy. His current favorite. I’ve seen some of the things…”

He trails off, a distant look in his eyes.

“Can you give us a name?”

“…Julian. Julian Larson.”

Logan’s aware of Derek’s eyes on him. He wraps up the questioning as quickly as possible, sends Smythe on his way and finishes up the required paperwork. There’s still more people on the list of potential witnesses, still multiple precincts on high alert for any activity. He has a ton of work to do, he can’t focus on one name. But Derek seems to feel differently.

“Logan,” he says quietly, tapping his pen against Logan’s desk, “We really should—”

“Don’t.”

“Logan. We have to—”

“We don’t _have_ to do anything.”

“He’s a _suspect_ , Logan,” Derek snaps, frustrated, “You already felt like he knew _something_. This just confirms it. We have to bring him in for questioning.”

“I can’t do that, I made a deal with him.”

“That you wouldn’t arrest him for soliciting. This is a lot bigger now.”

Logan sighs, “Just…let me try to talk to him first. Please.”

“…you have twenty-four hours. After that, I’m bringing him in myself.”

He’s usually a lot more subtle in the way he approaches Julian. But with the sudden lack of time, he can’t be as careful as he usually is. Julian’s not alone, when Logan’s car moves slowly down the street. There’s another man with him, tall and good-looking, one of his hands wrapped around Julian’s arm. It’s clear what this is, but Logan doesn’t have the patience to wait for this _encounter_ to be over.

Julian glances up as Logan steps out of the car, eyes narrowing. He shakes his head subtly, but Logan doesn’t back off.

“Excuse me,” he says, in his most authoritative voice, “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

The man beside Julian looks a little thrown, “No, officer. Just on our way home.”

“Is that right? You two live together?”

“I…yes.”

“Mind showing some ID that would prove that?”

“Look, officer,” the man drops Julian’s arm, “We aren’t doing anything.”

“I’ve picked him up for soliciting more than once,” Logan nods Julian’s way, “And _you_ have visible track marks on both arms. You really wanna tell me everything going on tonight is totally innocent?”

“Go, Cam,” Julian says softly, “Get out of here.”

“Might wanna listen to your buddy.”

The man — _Cam_ — glances back at Julian. Julian nods encouragingly at him, and Logan watches as he hurries down the street.

“We actually _weren’t_ doing anything,” Julian crosses his arms over his chest, “He’s a friend of mine.”

“He ran pretty fast for someone who wasn’t doing anything.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t have anything on him.”

“I’m not here for a drug bust,” Logan says, pulling Julian into a more private alley, “Though I’d like to remind you that our immunity deal doesn’t transfer to your friends.”

“Then what _are_ you here for?”

“Clavell.”

Julian yanks his arm out of Logan’s grasp, scowling, “I already _told_ you—”

“You didn’t tell me anything. I know you’re involved somehow, Julian, I just need you to tell me how to get to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Your name was given in an official logged witness report,” Logan tells him, “I can’t make that disappear. If you don’t tell me _something_ , you’ll be brought in for questioning.”

“Fucking _Sebastian_ ,” Julian turns away, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “I told him not to—he was supposed to keep his damn mouth _shut_!”

“Julian,” Logan steps closer, “He told us…he said you’re one of Clavell’s _favorites_.”

Julian scoffs, “What, you thought I was doing this _willingly_? That I _like_ sucking guys off in alleys?”

“So he’s your pimp, then?”

“It’s a little more than that,” Julian sighs, “I’m—I can’t tell you anything, okay. He’ll _kill_ me.”

“He doesn’t have to know it was me.”

“He’ll know.”

“Not if we arrest you, too.”

Julian looks outraged, “You _promised_.”

“Not for real,” Logan clarifies, “But if you tell us where he’ll be, if we arrest you with him, he won’t know you narced. We can spread a rumor you made a plea deal, or something. We have ways of taking care of this kind of thing, Julian. You’ll be safe. I swear.”

Julian still looks unsure. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, paces across the alley for a few moments. Logan stays where he is, letting the man consider.

“Okay,” he finally says, taking a deep breath, “He wants me to meet him tomorrow night. You know that apartment building on 6th and Mona Lisa? The ritzy one, with the doorman?”

“That where he lives?”

“This week, at least,” Julian says, “I’m going over there at eight. Apartment 1732.”

“Perfect. We’ll take care of everything, okay? I swear.” He smiles, trying for reassuring, but Julian just shrugs him off as he moves past him.

“Just keep me out of prison, alright? I’d prefer not dying, too.”

It’s a little troubling, that the _dying_ comes almost as an afterthought.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night. He and Derek spend hours working over the plan, ensuring their team is in place, that they’ll be able to pull this off without a hitch. It has to go absolutely _perfectly._

They start staking the place out early in the evening. Derek and Logan hole up in a busted-down car a little ways down the street, watching the entrance to the building. There’s a team prepped and ready to go, waiting for the signal in a nearby building.

“There’s Julian,” Logan says, watching as the man approaches the building. He glances around before entering, and Logan wishes he could wave at him without blowing his cover.He steps inside, and Derek looks down at his watch.

“Twenty minutes, starting now.”

The wait is agonizing. Logan sends the alert to their team, updates their Captain back at the precinct. When Derek’s alarm goes off, they slide out of the car, making their way inside.

The whole thing goes down surprisingly smoothly.

Logan kicks down Clavell’s door, his whole team behind him with weapons drawn. There’s slight movement in the apartment when they enter, and Derek smoothly disarms two of Clavell’s associates as they stalk through the place. Clavell himself isn’t armed. In fact, he isn’t even fully clothed when they enter.

“What the _fuck?!”_ He yelps, pulling himself off a very naked Julian.

“Adam Clavell,” Derek moves forward, grabbing the man’s arms and smoothly snapping a pair of cuffs around his wrists, “You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Logan leaves his partner to it, moving instead to Julian. He grabs him as gently as he can while still making it believable, “Julian Larson. You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…”

The credibility of the whole thing is thanks in part to how _into_ it Julian gets. He fights back as Logan cuffs him, yells obscenities and kicks at him.

“That fucking _hurt_ ,” Logan hisses once Clavell’s been dragged out of the room, “Cool it a little, would you?”

Julian winks at him, but continues yelling, “You could at least let me put on some _pants_ , you piece of shit!”

Clavell’s associates are stuffed into the back of one car. Clavell gets shoved in another, and Derek nods at Logan.

“I’ll take him,” he says, glaring at Clavell through the window, “You got the whore?”

“Think I can handle it.”

Logan (gently) pushes Julian into the backseat of another car, subtly tosses him the handcuff key and climbs into the front.

“That guy called me a _whore_ ,” Julian complains, maneuvering the cuffs off his wrists and rubbing at the tender skin, “I’m not a whore.”

“All part of the show,” Logan tells him, pulling out onto the street, “If it’ll make you feel better, I can tell him to apologize.”

“I’d rather you just take me home.”

“Where would that be?”

Julian directs him a few blocks away, and Logan hesitates for a moment.

“I’ll be fine,” Julian says, “As long as you keep him locked up, I’ll be fine.”

He shoots Logan a smile, leans up for a moment to squeeze his shoulder. Logan watches as he walks inside. He _will_ be fine, he knows. He’s pulled strings to keep Julian under watch, has people doing extra patrols in the neighborhood just in case Clavell sends a lackey after him.

Three days later, though, Derek pulls Logan aside as he steps into the office.

“He’s missing.”

“Clavell?”

“Julian.”

Logan’s stomach sinks.

The landlord of Julian’s building claims he’d left willingly, that he’d broken his lease and taken his things, but left no forwarding address. The surveillance footage of the building _seems_ to support that.

Still, Logan calls all his contacts. Cashes in all his favors.

Nobody’s heard from Julian Larson.

Until the day a simple _Google search_ solves the mystery.

Logan’s waiting outside the theatre when Julian steps out onto the stairs. He moves forward, catches the man’s eye and holds up the Starbucks cup. Julian freezes, at first. But Logan’s not in uniform this time.

“You’re here,” Julian says slowly, walking closer.

“You’re a _college student,”_ Logan holds up the coffee cup, and Julian takes it with a small smile.

“I’m smarter than I look. Granted, it's only community college. But still.”

“Performing arts major?”

“Stalker.”

“You like it?”

Julian looks down for a moment, and his smile widens, “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.”

Julian sips at the drink, “White chocolate mocha?”

“First drink I ever bought you, remember?”

“I do," he lowers the cup, tilts his head at Logan, "So. You here to question me again? Because I don’t really know anything.”

“Only one question, this time.”

Julian raises an eyebrow. Logan takes a deep breath.

“Can I buy you dinner, sometime?”

"...oh. Wow. Not the question I expected."

Logan fidgets a little, "You can say no."

"I'm kinda busy, right now," Julian says, "Auditions for the spring show are next week. But after, maybe? Are Saturdays okay?"

Logan grins, "Saturdays are perfect."


	36. Nerd!Logan

Logan _hates_ partner projects.

It’s not too bad when he can actually choose his partner, he supposes. He shares most of his classes with Derek, who’s somehow chosen to rekindle their childhood friendship despite falling steadfastly into the jock crowd. Derek might be a snarky asshole half the time, but he likes Logan, and Logan likes him, and Derek cares about his grades more than anything else.

But Derek’s had taken AP European History _last_ year, and the teacher isn’t nice enough to let people choose their own pairings.

“Wright,” she reads off her list, and Logan’s shoulders tense, “and…Larson.”

 _Larson_.

It’s not that Logan’s ever had a _bad_ interaction with Julian Larson. It’s just that Julian is…well, _Julian_ , and Logan’s…

A bit of a nerd.

He’d considered hiding it, when he’d started at Dalton. But then just three weeks in he’d gotten an invite to the school _Magic_ group, and he couldn’t possibly turn down something like that. Nobody’s really given him a hard time about his sometimes eccentric interests, here at school. Still, it’s _high school_ , and the popular kids don’t exactly spend their free time with the nerdiest students Dalton has to offer.

And Julian Larson isn’t just popular, he’s an honest-to-god _celebrity_. He doesn’t just party with football players and cheerleaders, but with rappers and Victoria’s Secret models. His movies have been the top summer blockbusters the past two years running. His face had graced the cover of _Vogue_. Twice.

Still, Julian’s all smiles when he sidles up to Logan after class.

“Lucky you,” he drawls, heaving his bag over his shoulder, “AP Euro is my best subject. We’re gonna fucking _ace_ this thing.”

Logan gets straight to business, “So how do you want to split this up? I can knock out my half this weekend and send it to you for you to finish.”

“Woah buddy, hold up,” Julian says, following him from the room, “Isn’t the whole point of these things _teamwork_? Like we’re supposed to do them together?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, “What, you wanna give up your weekend to hang out with me?”

“Not like I go to that many parties anyway. High school shenanigans are all kind of juvenile when you’ve been to the Met Gala, after all.”

Logan’s not really sure how to respond to that, “Right. Well…I don’t really have plans, so I guess just stop by whenever you feel like working on it?”

“Sure,” Julian grins, “Tomorrow? I can bring food.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“Homework is always better with foods. You’re the one with the peanut allergy, right? I remember there being this big thing freshman year where the cafeteria mislabeled something and they called an ambulance for you.”

“Right,” Logan’s ears turn red at the embarrassing memory, “Peanuts and shellfish. Other than that I’m not really picky.”

“Perfect. See you tomorrow, Logan.”

Logan half expects Julian to forget. He’s fully prepared for Julian to full on ghost him all weekend, to pull an _oops-I-forgot!_ in class Monday morning, fully expecting Logan to have completed the project anyway. He knows how this works.

Except Julian’s at his door right at lunchtime, a large bag of Chinese take-out in his hands.

“You said you weren’t picky,” Julian explains, striding right on into the room and plopping down at Logan’s desk, “But everyone always says that so they don’t sound difficult. I brought options, just in case.”

Not only does Julian show up on time, but he actually _works_. He pulls a small notebook out of his pocket, reads off a few ideas for the project he’s thought of.

 _Good_ ideas.

“You look surprised,” he says, once Logan’s voiced his approval over one of his ideas, “You totally thought I was some ditz, didn’t you?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, you’re in all AP classes so I knew your GPA must be good. I just didn’t think you cared all that much. Do you even need to be here, I figured most child stars just have on set tutors.”

“First off, please don’t _ever_ call me a child star. It’s derogatory. And I don’t _technically_ need school, I guess. But if you’re gonna do something you might as well do it right, right?”

“…I guess so.”

“So let’s get started, then?”

Julian doesn’t slouch on his share of the work. Julian is _smart_. He’s also funny, snarky, and nothing at all like Logan expected.

The thing is, Logan _might_ have just the smallest of crushes.

It’s not a big deal. It’s just that Logan is very gay, and Julian is _very_ beautiful. It’s a purely physical thing, a stupid little fantasy stemming from a single interaction in freshman year P.E.; they’d been paired up in a wrestling demonstration, and Logan hadn’t quite learned how to handle his strength. He’d taken Julian down a little harder than expected, had heard a dull thud in his ears as Julian’s back slammed into the floor. But Julian had just _laughed_ , had reached out a hand so that Logan could pull him back up. His eyes had sparkled so beautifully, his lips curved into a smile, and Logan’s teenage hormones had run wild.

But he got over it.

Or at least, he thought he had.

But those hormones are coming rushing back, with Julian sitting so close, his lips pursed around the edge of a pencil as he thinks, his eyes sparkling when they come up with a good idea.

Logan doesn’t even realize how long they’ve spent hunched over his desk until Julian breaks off mid-sentence to yawn.

“Oh shit,” he says, glancing at his phone, “It’s way later than I thought. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

Julian waves him off, “We were on a roll, it’s fine. I can come back in the morning, though?”

“Sure, whenever’s fine. It shouldn’t take that much longer to finish.”

They stand, and there’s a brief moment of awkwardness before Logan realizes he’s blocking Julian from the doorway. He flushes a little as he steps to the side, their arms brushing. But Julian just seems amused.

“Trying to get me to stay, Wright?” His voice is nearly a _purr_ , and Logan’s having _problems_.

“No,” he says, flustered, “I wasn’t trying to…I just…here,” he moves aside, holds the door open. Julian laughs a little but steps out, wiggling his fingers in a slight wave.

“See you tomorrow, Logan.”

He’s even _earlier_ the following day, strolling in with two coffee cups and a large pastry. To _share_.

“Let’s crush this bitch,” he says brightly, once again throwing himself over Logan’s chair.

It doesn’t take them long to finish. Julian spends a half hour or so fiddling with the colors and pictures on their Powerpoint, and the resulting product manages to toe the line between professional and creative. Logan painstakingly makes notecards for their oral presentation, and they rehearse it through, making a few slight changes.

“Well,” Julian says, after their practice, “I might be biased, but I think we deserve an A.”

“We’ll get one. And you’ll never have to work with me again.”

Julian tilts his head to the side, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“The self-deprecating thing. Acting like it’s some huge hardship for me to get paired with you for this.”

“I mean, I’m sure you have things you’d rather be doing, is all.”

“I’m sure _you_ have things you’d rather be doing, too. We worked through your Card Club meeting last night, didn’t we?”

Logan winces, “I mean it’s not…it’s fine. They can survive without me for one night.”

“You know I _like_ you, right?”

“You…excuse me?”

Julian leans forward, crossing his arms over the desk, “You’re funny. All those jokes you make in class under your breath? You’re smart. I don’t know why you always act like you’re such a burden on me.”

“I’m a moderator for a DC fansite,” Logan says, “You’re one of the most famous teenagers in the world.”

“Everyone has their own passions.”

“You’re also just… _you_.”

“I’m really not sure if I should be offended by that.”

“Come on, Julian,” Logan runs a hand through his hair, “You’re famous and talented and you…you look like _that_.”

“Please, like you’re not a secret hottie behind the glasses and sweater vests and hair gel.”

“I’m…what?”

Julian rolls his eyes, “Your clothes are pretty shapeless, and you do this thing where you look hunch in on yourself when you walk, but you’re a goddamn looker, Wright. I’ve seen you changing in gym class. Hiding those abs is a sin.”

“I…what?”

“Oh my god,” Julian sighs, shifting in his seat, “I’m gonna totally embarrass myself here, but it’s _sad_ that you think so little of yourself so I guess I have to fix it — I _might_ , maybe, possibly, have a tiny crush. On you.”

“…on me?”

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just that I kind of have this weakness for tall hot blondes, and you fit the bill exactly.”

Logan blinks, “You have a crush. On _me_?”

“I don’t know if you remember, but there was this one time freshman year, in P.E…”

“—the wrestling day?”

“Yeah,” Julian looks a little please, “You totally caught me off guard, and then you looked guilty, and then you didn’t let go of my hand for a second after you helped me up…it was dumb, but I kinda just, I don’t know…I liked it.”

“Oh,” Logan’s mind is reeling, “Wow.”

“Yeah. And not to sound totally vain, or anything,” Julian laughs lightly, “But you’re single, as far as I know. And I know you’re gay. It kind of feels like you’re interested? So are you going to ask me to dinner, or do I have to do all the work?”

Logan blinks, “Um. Could I…shower first? And change into something that’s not a sweater vest, I guess?”

“Sure,” Julian grins at him, “You know where I live.”

He finally rises from the desk, squeezes Logan’s arm lightly and beams up at him as he strolls out of the room. He pauses at the door just briefly, and Logan turns when he hears Julian call his name.

“Hey Logan? I like the sweater vests.”


	37. Demon!Logan

It hurts.

It only makes sense, he supposes.

He’d read once that death by fire was one of the most painful of all. He believes it, now that it’s happening to him. The flames lick at his skin, the smoke filling his lungs so thickly he can’t even choke on it. He’s not sure where he is, if he’s managed to make it down the stairs or if he’s still trapped somewhere on the second floor.

It doesn’t matter, anymore.

His legs had given out minutes ago, his body too weak to continue. There’s nothing else in this room, nothing but black smoke and orange flames and his certain, impending death.

He wonders who’ll miss him.

His mother, of course. His father, though perhaps to a lesser extent. The handful of friends he’s managed to hang onto. There’ll be a memorial, of course, attended by hundreds of mourning fans.

He hopes it’ll be a spectacle.

It’s there, trapped in a small room in a crumbling building, where Julian Larson takes his last breath.

Whatever comes next doesn’t quite make sense.

When Julian’s eyes open, it feels as if he’s slept for a hundred years. Perhaps he has. The heat is gone, replaced with a cool chill in the air. He blinks a few times, tries to re-orient himself. There’s a cloud of swirling mist around him, an odd purple-y shade that shimmers in the air.

“Oh good,” a deep voice says beside him, “I was beginning to think you’d never wake.”

It takes Julian a moment to focus. The effort is only hindered by the absolute _beauty_ of the face in front of him — perfectly sculpted, mesmerizing green eyes set above a narrow nose and plush lips. Light hair, almost white in color, set in a perfect coif atop the man’s head.

“Are you an angel?”

The man’s lips quirk upwards, “Wrong direction, sweetheart.”

He holds out a hand, curls long fingers around Julian’s wrist and tugs upward. It’s a gentle motion, but sends Julian instantly to his feet nevertheless. It’s not until he’s standing that he realizes he doesn’t _hurt_.

Odd.

“Where am I?”

“There isn’t exactly a word for it,” the strange man says, “Not one you would understand, at least. I suppose the best term might be… _after_.”

“After?” Julian can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the beautiful man’s face, “You mean…am I dead?”

“You could say that.”

“But then that means…” Julian trails off, trying to focus. He’s _dead_. This is _after._ And when he’d asked the man if he was an angel, he’d said… “This is hell. I’m in hell.”

“Not quite. Not yet, at least.”

“Purgatory, then?”

The man sneers, “Such a messy, heavy term. I prefer simplicity. Just _after_.”

“Then what are you?”

“My name’s Logan. And I’m here to offer you a deal.”

“Are you the devil?”

Logan laughs, “You’re not _that_ important, Julian. Though you’re not far off.”

“A demon, then? Is that even real?”

“Close enough,” Logan says, his white teeth still glinting behind his grin, “Would you like to hear the terms of the arrangement I’m offering you?”

“I’m still coming to grips with the whole _being dead_ thing, if you don’t mind.”

“Would you like not to be?”

Julian blinks, “Is…is that an option? Not being dead?”

“It is. For a price.”

“I’ll do it,” Julian says quickly, “I mean I…I’m _seventeen_. I don’t want it to be over yet. I have things. Things I want to do.”

“Yes, you do, don’t you? That Oscar. You win, by the way.”

Julian’s breath catches. He can’t help the flood of joy that fills him, the happy swelling in his chest, “I do?”

“And that’s just the first,” Logan continues, “Then there’s the rest of your EGOT…I won’t spoil everything for you, of course, but I understand you still have things to accomplish. And you will, Julian.”

He lifts his hand, drawing those long fingers softly down Julian’s cheek. It sends a shiver down Julian’s spine, and he finds himself leaning in thoughtlessly.

“What do I have to do?”

“Hm?” Logan tilts his head to the side, as if he’s lost track of the conversation.

“To not be dead. What’s the price?”

“Oh, right. The price,” the hand falls to Logan’s side, and he takes the smallest of steps back, “The price, Julian, is _you_.”

“…me?”

“The ultimate price, really,” Logan says, “Your eternal soul for the rest of your life. Binding yourself to me so that you have the chance to fulfill your legacy.”

Julian’s mind can’t even _fathom_ the deal. He’s a teenager, a _child_ , really. He has no concept of _eternity_ , can barely think ahead enough to plan out the next year of his life. But he does _want_ his life. Wants what Logan’s promised — the Oscar, his EGOT, every goal he’s had set for him since birth. He wants that. He doesn’t want to be _dead_.

“What do I have to do?”

Logan looks pleased, “So you agree, then? Your soul is mine?”

“I get to live?”

“I did give my word, didn’t I?”

“Then yes,” Julian takes a step forward. It can’t be _that_ bad, can it? He’s going to die eventually anyway, will come back to the after and whatever comes next. What does it matter who technically owns his soul?

“Well then,” Logan’s hand returns to his face, the pad of his thumb stroking over Julian’s jaw, “I suppose we have a deal.”

“What do I do then? Is it a blood oath, or…”

Logan laughs again, “You do have an active imagination, don’t you? Must be all those movies. No palm-slicing involved, my darling. Don’t you worry.”

“So it’s just my word, then?”

“I suppose,” Logan leans forward, his face impossibly close, “We could always seal it…with a kiss?”

It feels like a dream, when Julian wakes. His mom lets out a sob when his eyes open, and a half-dozen men and women in crisp white coats hover over him. His vitals are checked, his skin poked and prodded, and the memory of Logan fades away.

Until, of course, the night of his first Oscar win.

He’d somehow made his way through three post-Oscar parties without falling on his face drunk. He’s simply pleasantly tipsy, his skin humming as he stumbles into his house and up the stairs to his bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind him, flicks on the lights.

And nearly screams, at the sight of a tall blonde man perched on the corner of his bed.

“You look scared, Julian.”

That voice washes over Julian, and the tension fades away. He’s confused, still, his brow furrowing as he stares at the man in his room.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you alone forever, did you?” Logan stands, crossing the room in three long strides, “I’d like to check up on my investment. Make sure you’re not wasting the wonderful deal I’ve granted you.”

He hasn’t _wasted_ it. That’s suddenly very important to him, that Logan knows he isn’t wasting his life.

“I won,” he says, a little too proudly, “My Oscar. I won.”

Logan smiles, “I know you did. I told you, remember?”

“So you know, then?” Julian asks, “Everything that’s going to happen to me?”

“Everything. Your awards. Your failures. When you marry. When you have children.”

“I get married? But I thought you…my soul.”

“Is mine, yes. Eternally. But your life is just a blip in history. I’d be cruel to deprive you of something so _human_ as a family, wouldn’t I? After all, you’ll be mine after all that. I know just when, and I look forward to the day.”

His hand curls around the base of Julian’s skull, pulling gently until their lips press together.

When Julian opens his eyes again, he’s alone.

Logan’s appearances are never expected. He doesn’t show up when Julian wins a Grammy, nor when his name is called at the Tony’s, when he _finally_ completes his EGOT. He does, however, appear in Julian’s mirror the day Julian loses a role he’d fought over for months. The day Dolce is diagnosed with breast cancer, Logan squeezes Julian’s hand and _promises_ she’ll get better.

The night of the dinner date Julian has with the woman who will become his wife, he looks up to see Logan sitting alone at a table across the room. He smiles at him, raises his wine glass and nods once.

Julian doesn’t see him again, after that.

He’s sure Logan’s still watching.

He must be.

Watching as a ring slides onto Julian’s hand. Watching as his first child comes screaming into the world. Watching through a dozen vacations, a hundred film roles. Through raising children, through succeeding and failing.

He knows Logan’s watching, the day after Julian’s eighty-fifth birthday. The day a distracted driver runs a red light, crashing right into the car taking Julian to an interview.

It doesn’t hurt, not like the last time he died. He’s barely even registered the crash before he sees that face swimming above him. That slight frown on beautiful lips, the concern in those green eyes. Logan squeezes his hand softly, leans down to whisper into Julian’s ear.

“It’s time, darling.”

Yes.

It’s time.

Julian Larson takes his final breath — for good, this time — and follows Logan into _after_


	38. Accidental Break-In

Logan lives in a relatively safe part of the city. His building has good security, and he _knows_ he’d locked the door before he’d gone to bed last night.

Which is why it’s more than surprising when he wakes up in the morning to find a strange man asleep on his sofa.

A strange, beautiful man.

“Um…hello?”

The man doesn’t budge. He’s sprawled across Logan’s leather sofa, one leg strewn over the arm. One of his forearms is thrown over his face, blocking his eyes from the light. He looks _dead_ , for a moment, until Logan pokes at his leg and gets only the slightest grumble in response.

He should call the police, probably. That’s what you do when someone barges into your house unannounced, after all. But something about this man doesn’t feel like a threat. He looks tall, but Logan’s fairly certain he’s taller. He’s lithe, thin enough that Logan knows he could take him.

Besides, it doesn’t look like the man had made any attempt to actually steal anything. He’d been polite enough to close Logan’s door behind him, had even kicked off his shoes in the entryway.

But why is he _here_?

“Excuse me,” Logan tries again, this time shaking the man’s arm a little. He mumbles again, something Logan can’t even begin to understand. It has the same kind of vibe as a _five more minutes_ , though, and the stale alcohol smell hits Logan’s nostrils as soon as he leans in. If this guy had the night Logan _thinks_ he had, it could be a while until he wakes up.

Logan sighs, moving away from the stranger to step into his kitchen. He can still keep an eye on the guy from his counter, thankfully, can watch and make sure he doesn’t suddenly dart up and do something stupid. He pours himself a bowl of cereal and starts a pot of coffee, stands over his sink and watches the man on his couch as he eats.

He _is_ remarkably beautiful. Logan can’t even feel guilty about his blatant ogling — the man broke into _his_ apartment, after all. So Logan lets his eyes wander over the long limbs, the tousled curls, the sharp jawline.

As Logan stares, the man stirs. He groans a little bit, rolls onto his side and buries his face in a throw pillow.

“Coffee,” he mumbles, just loud enough that Logan can finally make out the word.

Well.

Why the fuck not?

Logan grabs a second mug from his cupboard, fills it about halfway — the man might still be drunk, and Logan doesn’t want his sofa stained with coffee — and walks back to the man, pressing the mug into his outstretched hand. He watches, amused, as the man takes a sip.

And promptly gags.

“Ugh, Clark, come _on_. You know I hate it black,” the man whines. He shoves the mug back at Logan, who raises one eyebrow.

“You should probably be grateful,” he says, “You break into my home and I give you coffee? That’s more than generous, I think.”

The man’s shoulders tense at Logan’s voice. He turns his head slowly, raising his eyes to Logan’s face. He doesn’t look scared, more confused.

“…you’re not Clark,” he says.

“No. I’m not. It’s Logan, actually. Not even close to _Clark_.”

The man blinks, “Is this 32 Green Acres?”

“Yes.”

“Apartment 4B?”

“4C, actually.”

“Oh,” the man pushes himself up, winces a little as he moves into a sitting position, “I may have let myself into the wrong apartment last night.”

“You think?”

“Huh,” The man looks puzzled for a moment, brings his hands up to his eyes and rubs at them with his palms, “I didn’t like…try to…”

“Rob me? Kill me? Thankfully, no.”

“Jump you,” the man corrects, “I mean, usually when I drink like that I get…really horny.”

“No, you didn’t jump me,” Logan says with a slight smirk, “Think my night would’ve been a lot more interesting if you tried.”

The man groans, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I — fuck, I’m gonna go.”

He stands up, but starts to sway almost immediately. His face turns green, and Logan hurries to pull him back to the couch.

“How about you just sit still for a second, hm? I’d prefer a puke-free living room carpet.”

The man nods, and he squeezes his eyes shut, leaning his head back against the sofa. Logan moves back to the kitchen, grabs an empty glass and fills it to the brim with water. The stranger makes a noise of gratitude when Logan hands it over, downs half the glass in one go.

“…Julian, by the way,” he offers, “Is it less creepy for me to be here if you know my name?”

“Not really,” Logan says bluntly.

“Cool. Well. The second the room stops spinning, I’ll be outta your hair.”

He sips at the water again, a little more tentatively this time.

“How did you even get in?” Logan asks, “I locked the door, didn’t I?”

Julian shrugs, “Probably. You should really invest in a chain or something, the standard locks are really easy to pick.”

“You were going to pick the lock of someone else’s apartment, then?”

“Well, yeah. Clark usually doesn’t mind me crashing at his place when I’m downtown, but I didn’t want to wake him up. Figured I’d just let myself in and crash on the couch.”

“And you didn’t notice that it wasn’t his apartment?”

“Dude,” Julian gives him a look, “I was _hammered_. Clark’s tall and blonde like you, I probably could’ve walked in with you sitting here and still thought I was in the right place.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Oh god, you even have the same judgey face.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You’re judging.”

“I’m judging,” Logan admits, “I’ve been pretty drunk, but never so drunk I broke into a stranger’s apartment and fell asleep on their sofa.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call the cops on me.”

“I considered it. Figured I could probably take you, though. Especially with you being hungover.”

“Hey, I’m totally tough,” Julian retorts, “I took like…four whole kickboxing classes.”

“I’ve taken seven years of jiu-jitsu.”

“…okay, so you could probably take me.”

Logan can’t help but laugh. This whole situation is _ridiculous_ , but he can’t quite _mind_ having Julian here, “Thankfully for both of us, there was no fighting involved.”

“Or cops.”

“Or cops.”

Julian cracks a smile, “I think I can probably stand without puking, now.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Julian takes one last sip of the water and heaves himself to his feet. He sways again, just a little, but it eases up after a moment.

“You need help getting to the right apartment?”

“I think I can manage,” Julian says. He’s a little shaky with his steps, his eyes squinting a little with the harsh lights. But he makes it to the door unassisted, turns and offers Logan another smile as he lets himself out, “Enjoy your gross black coffee.”

Logan doesn’t even have time to retort before the door’s closing behind Julian. He rolls his eyes, picks up his mug, and very much _does_ enjoy his coffee.

He’s finished his breakfast, showered, changed, and watched last night’s episode of _Saturday Night Live_ before he notices the discarded pair of sneakers by his front door.

Julian’s sneakers.

A tingle of excitement runs up his spine as he scoops up the shoes. He carries them out into the hall, takes the ten steps to apartment 4B and knocks.

The man who answers the door is definitely _not_ Julian. He’s tall — even more so than Logan, which always makes him moderately uncomfortable — and blonde, his whole persona oddly reminiscent of a Golden Retriever.

“Oh, hi,” Logan says, a little taken aback, “You must be Clark.”

“I am,” the man says, smiling a little, “Are…wait, you’re the guy J broke in on last night, aren’t you?”

“That would be me.”

Clark laughs, “Holy shit, I’m so sorry. If he’d told me he was planning on coming by I would’ve _checked_ , I can’t believe he did that.”

“It’s fine,” Logan says, suddenly feeling a little awkward, “It’s just that he left his shoes at my place, so I thought…”

“Oh, yeah,” Clark grins, “He noticed, but I think he felt a little weird about going back over. Stole my sandals to get back to his own place. I can get them to him, though.”

He reaches for the sneakers, and Logan hesitates for a moment. It’s so _stupid_ , but Clark just rolls his eyes.

“Or I could give you his number,” he says, “So you can deliver them yourself. I know that face.”

Logan clears his throat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The _smitten-with-Julian-Larson_ face,” Clark explains, “Happens a lot. Gotta say, this might be the creepiest way he’s ever landed himself a date.”

“I’m not asking him on a _date_ ,” Logan says defensively, “I just want to return his shoes.”

“Of course you do.”

Clark grabs a pen off a small table by his door, grabs Logan’s free hand and scrawls ten digits across his skin.

“He likes movies,” Clark tells him, “Dinner, wine. He should probably be the one to pay, though, after breaking in on you like that. Make him work for it for once.”

He caps the pen again, leveling Logan with a stern look.

“And don’t you dare hurt him, alright? I know where you live.”

He lets the door swing shut, and Logan stares down at the numbers written on his hand.

This might be the most ridiculous way he’s ever asked a guy on a date.

But hey, if things work out, this is gonna be one hell of a story.


	39. Reform!Jogan

There’s an undecipherable expression on Logan’s face, as he stares down at Julian’s bloodied body.

It’s a look the likes of which Derek has never seen before, and he can’t help but feel a cool chill as he stares at the man. He’s seen anger before, of course, seen those green eyes fiery with rage more times than he can count. But this — this cold, calculating blankness, the calm way Logan’s holding himself — this scares him far more than the rage ever had.

“…Logan?”

The blonde doesn’t respond. His eyes are fixed on Julian’s prone form, watching the stuttering rise and fall of his chest. They flicker for just a moment, to Julian’s bandaged abdomen, the clean white wrapping a stark contrast to the mess of blood he’d been found with.

“They said he’s going to be okay,” Derek says carefully, “That it missed any vital organs. The twins were careful—”

“The twins were stupid.”

It’s one of the first things Logan’s said, since he’d found Julian. Derek had never seen his friend look so panicked before, not even the night Julian had been found crumpled at the bottom of a dark staircase. He’d bellowed orders at anyone in sight, had yelled and cursed until Julian had been carted away on a stretcher. But after that, silence. They’d all waited for his retaliatory command, for Logan to make a decision on how to deal with the Windsor camp.

But he’d said nothing.

Instead, Logan had returned to Julian’s room. He’d dropped to his knees, scrubbed at the bloodstain on the hardwood floors with his own hands. Once that was clear, he’d gathered up Julian’s stained sheets, carted them to the yard, and held a lighter to the fabric until it went up in flames.His face had maintained that same stony silence throughout the process, and he’d barely responded to anyone until they’d been allowed to see Julian in the hospital wing.

Now, though — after being assured of Julian’s health, after seeing him breathing on his own and hearing the steady beep of the heart monitor — _now,_ Logan’s face changes. His hands curl into fists, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed anger.

“…Logan,” Derek tries again, “I know. I’m pissed too, believe me. But maybe we should think about this. Going after the entire Windsor camp — it would mean _war_ , Logan. Not just between us. They would bring in _everyone_.”

“Let them.”

Derek falls silent. He knows there’s no fighting back on this. Logan’s made up his mind. Derek _understands_ , too, wants revenge for this almost as bad as his leader does. And he knows his place. He knows what’s expected of him now. To back Logan up, no matter his decision.

“What do you need me to do?”

In another remarkable show of absolute recklessness, the twins approach _him_.

“You shouldn’t be anywhere near here,” Derek says lowly, warningly, “He’s out for blood. He doesn’t care whose.”

“The Cat’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” One of them asks, and Derek might almost mistake the look in their eyes as _concern_.

“He will,” Derek tells them, “Not that it matters. You fucked up.”

“We had bad information,” the other twin says, “Amos thought it was the Stuarts who went after Bancroft, we only—”

Derek snorts out a laugh, “If Logan had ordered Julian to kill Bancroft, Bancroft would be dead right now. He never misses. You know that.”

There’s a moment of silence, and the twins exchange a look.

“He’s ordered us to leave you alone,” Derek continues, “Wants you two to himself. So unless you’d like to _fall out a window_ six times like Wong, I’d get far away from here. Now.”

There must be some degree of self-preservation left in those two, because they listen. Their eyes flick over to the hall leading to the hospital wing, just for a moment, but then they’re turning around, hurrying out of Stuart before Logan can catch them.

There’s three dead by the end of the night.

Not Stuarts. Not Windsors. Three unaffiliated boys, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even the other Stuarts seem concerned by the boundlessness of Logan’s rage.

By morning, two Windsors join Julian in the hospital wing.

“Logan,” Derek hisses, when he’s given the news, “Van Kamp and Hummel weren’t even _involved_ , is your plan just to pick off Windsors until they’re all gone?!”

“As far as I’m considered, they were _all_ involved,” Logan says calmly, polishing the muzzle of his Glock, “I want them to suffer. I want them to _hurt_.”

“Like you’re hurting?”

The gun hits Logan’s desk with a dull thud. The man leans forward, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he says, through gritted teeth, “I’m doing what I have to. Taking care of my people, like always.”

“So you’d do this for Tipton? For Smythe? For me?”

Logan doesn’t respond.

“Maybe you should take some time,” Derek says, “Stop worrying about shooting every Windsor you get your eyes on. Start worrying about why this is affecting you so much.”

“They could have _killed_ him,” Logan spits.

“How many situations have you put him in where he could have died? How many times did he _almost_ die, helping us?”

“That’s not the same. He had a choice.”

“Did he? Did he ever have a choice when it came to you?”

That seems to throw Logan off. He blinks once, scowls, reaches for his gun once more.

They both turn at the knock on the door.

“This better be fucking _important_ , Tipton,” Logan snarls, when Bailey’s face peeks through the crack.

“It is,” the boy says, softly, “It’s Julian. He’s…he’s awake.”

Derek’s never seen Logan move so fast.

He’s not quite sure what happens, in the few minutes before he makes it to the hospital wing himself. All he knows is the moment he walks in on — the Stuart’s powerful leader on his knees at Julian’s bedside, the tender way he clasps Julian’s hand in both of his own. The softness in Julian’s own eyes, the barely-there smile at the corner of his mouth. It’s a moment Derek feels he shouldn’t be witnessing.

But Julian spots him, turns his head a little.

“Hey, Jules,” he says, smiling a little, “You holding up okay?”

“You know me,” Julian replies, his voice just a little hoarse, “Practically immortal. One little stab wound isn’t gonna keep me down.”

“Well it’s good to have you back. I’ll go let everyone know.”

Julian nods just slightly, turning back to Logan. Logan hasn’t budged from Julian’s bedside, hasn’t acknowledged Derek’s presence in the room at all.

Derek doesn’t know what happens, after he leaves.

But he sees the way Julian and Logan look at each other, after. Sees the gentle brush of Logan’s hand against Julian’s waist, as he struggles to get around those first few days. Sees the way Julian’s more alert than usual, relying on the drugs less than he ever had before. Sees the way they lean close to talk, their fingers just barely grazing.

Julian’s room remains empty, more often than not. Nobody really questions it, nobody asks where he’s sleeping now.

But Derek knows.

It’s odd, perhaps, that it took Julian getting _stabbed_ for those two to figure their shit out. But somehow, it’s not exactly surprising. Their lives are so fucked, so convoluted and twisted, and both of them are magnets for drama.

At least they smile, now.


	40. Blind Date

“Hey.”

“…oh. Hi.”

“You’re Logan, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s me. And you’re…”

“Julian.”

“Larson. You’re Julian _Larson_.”

“Derek didn’t tell you that part, did he?”

“Not exactly.”

“That’s fine. He didn’t tell _me_ you were Senator Wright’s son.”

“Is that a deal-breaker?”

“Is me being a celebrity a deal-breaker?”

“…no.”

“Then no. Can I sit?”

“I mean, this _is_ a date. And that _is_ your chair.”

“Well damn, I was trying to be _polite,_ you—did you just _roll your eyes_ at me?”

“Sit the fuck down, Larson.”

“Well now I don’t know if I want to.”

“Do you want to eat, or not?”

“…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You know, you’re kind of a dick.”

“Oh really? Because Derek said I’m pretty much exactly your type.”

“Please. Physically, maybe?”

“Is that right?”

“Don’t look so smug. I’m into hot tall blondes. The hostess over there is _also_ my type. It’s not exactly a niche market, or anything.”

“But you think I’m hot.”

“And you were checking me out before you even knew I was your date.”

“He said you were a gorgeous brunette with an unfair ass.”

“Aw, Derek called me gorgeous?”

“That’s what you notice? Not the _unfair ass_ part?”

“Nah, I knew he liked it.”

“Mm hm. Wine?”

“Oh, yeah, sure — rosé?”

“I might’ve asked Derek what you liked.”

“Was someone nervous?”

“I didn’t wanna go into this totally blind.”

“Well there’s a possibility I might’ve asked him about you, too.”

“And what did he say?”

“I assume you want something a little juicier than the run-down of your allergies.”

“Oh my god, you get sick on a date _one time_.”

“Hospitalized, I heard.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“He also said you tend to move too fast with relationships.”

“ _Kill him_.”

“But he also said you’re smart. Funny. Talented. He knows I like musicians.”

“He said you’re not a bad singer yourself. Granted, I would’ve known that myself if he’d actually told me it was _you_ I was meeting.”

“So you’ve listened to my music, then?”

“You need to put out a whole album. I mean, that pop shit you did for your last movie was _okay_ , but that kind of folk-rock acoustic stuff? I’d kill for a whole album of that.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“…that wasn’t offensive, right? I mean, the song was fine, but it’s not really my style.”

“No, I…I didn’t choose that one. I wrote most of the other stuff, though.”

“Well it’s good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“…so what else did he say about me?”

“Not a lot. Obviously he was trying to keep the whole celebrity thing a surprise.”

“Well damn, I got half your life story and he couldn’t even come up with a couple good anecdotes for me?”

“Well I can’t give everything away. Gotta keep some things a surprise, right?”

“You’re insufferable, I swear, I—oh, hi, uh…the salmon, please?”

“The steak, for me. Thanks.”

“…fuck, where was I?”

“Calling me _insufferable_ , I believe.”

“Well, you kind of are.”

“You’ve known me for approximately five minutes.”

“You can tell a lot about a person with just five minutes.”

“I suppose you can.”

“So then, Logan, what’s your five-minute opinion of _me_?”

“That you’re nervous, and you’re trying to hide it.”

“I’m not _nervous_.”

“You finished half your glass of wine already. You’re either an alcoholic, or you’re nervous.”

“It…this _might_ be my first date in a while.”

“Can’t understand why, you’re gorgeous.”

“I get busy. Kind of a workaholic, you know. It’s hard to maintain a relationship.”

“But you want to?”

“…I didn’t really think about it, much. But I guess recently, I just…it’s mattered more?”

“Was it when you got the invitation to Derek’s wedding?”

“…how’d you know?”

“Same thing happened to me. I mean, I’m kind of a — Derek says I’m a hopeless romantic. I dated a lot. But then I took some time for me, you know, and I was doing fine. But getting the invitation…”

“It felt like you were behind.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re looking for something more serious, then?”

“Oh god, that sounds like such an awful thing to tell someone on a first date. I’m not _clingy_ , or anything.”

“Really? Because he said you kind of go all-out when you like someone.”

“…would you like an accomplice, with the whole killing him thing?”

“Oh please, like he didn’t tell you worse about me — oh, that was fast. Thank you.”

“There’s not any peanut in that sauce, right? I was given strict orders to check.”

“Again — it was _one time_ , and I was _sixteen_.”

“Should I taste it for you and make sure?”

“…would you mind?”

“Idiot, let me see — nah, I think you’re good. It’s delicious, too, nice choice.”

“Your salmon looks pretty good, too.”

“You wanna share?”

“Sure, here.”

“…”

“…”

“…he did tell me some stuff about you.”

“Oh god.”

“Not _bad_. He just said he thinks you’ve…picked the wrong people, before.”

“Yeah, he’s made it very clear that he didn’t approve of any of my previous relationships.”

“I pick the wrong people, too.”

“Oh.”

“Guess that’s why he set us up.”

“Guess so.”

“What if we told him the date went _terrible_ , just to fuck with him?”

“Or we tell him it went really well, and act like the grossest, mushiest couple just to irritate with him.”

“Oh my god, like we only call each other _babe_ and _sweetheart_ , and we post way too many obnoxious selfies together, and celebrate things like a one-week anniversary.”

“Exactly.”

“God, he’d flip.”

“It’d be hilarious, though.”

“It would.”

“…what if it _did_ go well, though?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, I’m _your_ type. Physically, at least. You’re my type. We haven’t had any prolonged awkward silences yet. And I don’t know how well you and Derek know each other, but I think I trust him to pick someone out for me more than I’d trust myself.”

“…yeah, I guess he knows me pretty well.”

“So what if it does go well?”

“Well…it’s not _not_ going well.”

“That sounds promising.”

“…what made you say yes to this?”

“To the date?”

“Yeah.”

“He said…he said you’re serious about your work, a lot of the time. But then when you get excited about things, you’re like a little kid. That one time you made him pull over on the way to lunch because it was raining, and you wanted to stand in it.”

“That’s what made you say yes?”

“I don’t…I don’t get excited about things like that, a lot. I guess I wanted to meet you, to see if maybe it could rub off on me a little bit.”

“Oh.”

“What made you say yes?”

“He played this recording. Just you playing piano, and singing. No video, just sound. And it’s like…listening to it, it was like I could feel what you were feeling. I can’t really explain it. But it made me want to meet you.”

“Oh.”

“That sounds corny, doesn’t it?”

“Not cornier than being wooed by you playing in the rain like a kid.”

“I don’t _play_ , I just like how it feels.”

“He said you were spinning around in circles.”

“God, could we stop talking about Derek please?”

“Sure, what do you want to talk about instead?”

“Do you really think you could see this going somewhere?”

“…yeah, I do. I haven’t enjoyed talking to someone this much in a long time.”

“Me, either.”

“So you could see it going somewhere, too?”

“I…I have really bad luck with relationships. Mostly because I’m bad at being a boyfriend, I think.”

“I think I am too.”

“But maybe we could try? Start with a second date?”

“We’re not even finished with the first one.”

“Everyone knows first dates are awful. Awkward. Mostly ice-breakers. It’s the second date where things get really good.”

“Is that the date you’ll let me take you home with me? Or do you hold out for the third?”

“Play your cards right, and it could be the first.”

“…”

“Oh my god, did you just choke on my asparagus? I could totally make this an innuendo, I know it.”

“You’re comparing your dick to the width of a stalk of asparagus?”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re the one who almost died on a date for the _second time_.”

“Because you propositioned me!”

“You’re the one who brought up bringing me home!”

“I was just joking, I — oh, hi. Dessert? Um…”

“I could go for some dessert.”

“We could split? That chocolate thing looks good.”

“Extra caramel sauce, please!”

“ _Anyway_ , I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to push.”

“We’re in our mid-twenties. We don’t have to pretend to play this game where we act classy by holding out for four or five dates before we fuck. Wouldn’t you rather know right off the bat if I suck in bed?”

“Do you suck in bed?”

“Only in the fun way.”

“Oh my _god_ , Julian, I—“

“…you have a nice laugh.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“I’m sure you don’t suck in bed, either.”

“I’ve never had a bad review.”

“Good to know.”

“So then, are — jesus, that was fast. Here, I had the bigger piece of steak, you can have the bigger half.”

“Oh my god I love you.”

“…”

“I didn’t mean—“

“No, I know. But I’m totally telling Derek you said _I love you_ on the first date.”

“I was talking to the _cake_!”

“Sure you were, _babe_.”

“Fuck off, _sweetheart_.”

“…”

“…”

“So, after this…”

“Oh, I fully expect you to take me home. I’m thinking another glass of wine, talking about our childhoods a little bit, I convince you to play something for me…”

“And then?”

“And then you take me to bed, of course. What comes next is a surprise. You like surprises, Logan?”

“…I think I’ll like this one.”


	41. Arranged Marriage

“Betrothed?”

Logan looks between the King and Queen, _sure_ he’s heard wrong.

“Yes, Logan,” his father says, “You’re of age. You’ve made no indication of finding an appropriate match of your own. It’s high time you do your duty.”

“What, by marrying some foreign Princess? I don’t like women, father!”

“I’m well aware of your proclivities.”

“Yet you’re still going to make me do it.”

The King looks irritated, brings one hand up to rub at his greying temples, “If you would just _listen_ , Logan—”

“No!” Logan snaps, “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you plan out my life with some—”

The Queen leans forward, clearing her throat, “His name is Prince Julian, darling.”

“… _his_?”

“As I said,” the King continues, “if you’d just _listened_ , I might’ve told you that Michelle argued in your favor. It seems King Travis’s son was willing to entertain offers from women and men both.”

“…but King Travis only has the one son, doesn’t he?” Logan asks, still a little confused, “What would that mean for their kingdom?”

“Their kingdom is shrinking. Lord Clavell has been seizing their lands for years, and they don’t have the resources to fight back. With your marriage to Prince Julian, we’ll add land to our Riverlands. Your children — a dilemma we’ll have to figure out in some way — will inherit both kingdoms.”

“Well…what’s he even _like_? What if we can’t stand each other?”

“Princes marry people they can’t stand every day, Logan.”

“But you’ll like him,” Queen Michelle interjects with a wink, “I’ve seen portraits. Logan, he’s _beautiful_.”

And he is.

Prince Julian is accompanied by his mother, Queen Dolce, and a small retinue. Michelle nudges Logan as the two ride forward.

“Close your mouth, darling,” she whispers, laughing, “I did warn you.”

Logan knows how royal portraits work. He’s seen beautiful portraits of plain people, seen artists smooth over pockmarked skin and turn thinning hair into voluminous curls. But if anything, Julian’s portrait is _dull_ compared to the real thing.

The Prince sits upon a magnificent white horse, strings of gold braided through the mare’s mane. Julian, in contrast, is dressed in the deep red color of his family, a matching strand of gold woven throughout his own dark curls. His eyes find Logan’s face, as he approaches, and Logan’s caught in a swirl of brown-gold eyes.

The King clears his throat suddenly, and Logan steps forward. They meet the royal couple together; King John extending a hand to Queen Dolce, ever the gentleman as he helps her dismount her horse. Logan matches his gesture, holding one hand out to the Prince.

Instead of a grateful smile, though, he receives a raised eyebrow, a slight sneer.

“I’m not a damsel,” the Prince says, “I got up here alone, and I can get down just the same.”

Logan blinks. Julian dismounts smoothly, sliding off his horse with the grace of a dancer. He turns away from Logan, coos something to his mount and offers up a sugar cube from his pocket. King John clears his throat, giving Logan a pointed look as he turns to lead Queen Dolce into the palace.

Logan tries again.

“Prince Julian,” he says, with all the proper formality he’s been trained with, “It’s good to meet you. Your portrait didn’t do you justice.”

Julian finally turns back to him, a sweet smile on his face, “Is this the part where you wax poetic about my hair, my eyes? How you knew you were marrying someone beautiful but you didn’t know you’d be marrying an _angel_?”

“I—”

“I’ve heard it all,” Julian says, rolling his eyes, “But we both know it doesn’t matter what I look like. Neither of us have a choice in the matter. I could look like a troll, and you’d still be stuck with me.”

He saunters off, the fabric of his burgundy cape brushing Logan’s shoulder as he ascends the stairs. There’s a bark of laughter from behind Logan, and Derek’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

“Well?” He asks, mirth in his eyes, “What do you think of your _lovely_ groom?”

Logan scowls, “To be very clear, I would _never_ call _that man_ an angel.”

By the end of the day, Logan’s convinced that Prince Julian was put on this earth for the sole purpose of tormenting him. The man charms everyone around him, practically as Queen Michelle eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the welcome banquet. Even King John seems to like him, bellowing loudly at one of the Prince’s jokes.

“He’s really not that bad,” Derek murmurs, halfway through the dessert course, “Maybe he just makes a poor first impression. You should try again.”

So Logan tries.

There’s a ball after the feast, of course. He’s expected to dance with Prince Julian. He’s been _trained_ to dance with Prince Julian. But when he offers his hand, the other Prince gives him an unimpressed look, hesitating before taking it.

“You better not step on my toes,” Julian says, and Logan tries not to break the man’s fingers.

“I’ll do my best.”

Despite Logan’s training, he feels a little clumsy beside Julian. He’d been trained with women as partners, petite women who barely came up to mid-chest. But Julian’s only half a hand shorter, and Logan fumbles a bit with his hand placement.

“Oh my god,” Julian groans, grabbing Logan’s wrist and shifting it, “My waist is up _here_. I wasn’t informed people in your culture accepted public groping.”

“It was an _accident_.”

“I’m certain.”

“Are you always this annoying, or is it just for me?”

Julian grins. Logan can’t help but appreciate the curve of his plush lips, “The others certainly seem to like me. Your mother says I’m a _delight_.”

“Stepmother. She likes everyone, don’t be flattered.”

“Too late.”

“So why are you so rude to _me,_ then?”

There’s a brief lull in conversation, as Julian spins around in the way the dance demands, then switches their holds and takes the lead.

“I haven’t quite decided how I feel about you,” he says finally, “Believe it or not, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when my father informed me he’d accepted a marriage proposal on my behalf.”

“So your solution was to make it as painful as possible.”

“Oh, I could make it much _more_ painful, if you’d like.”

“I wouldn’t, actually.”

The music stops, and the pair of princes step away from each other, clapping politely in the direction of the string quartet. Julian bows just enough to maintain propriety, dishes out some weak excuse about feeling tired from his journey, and excuses himself. Belatedly, Logan thinks that he should have offered to walk Julian to his rooms.

Then again, it’s not like _Julian_ is putting forth that much effort, either.

Julian and his retinue aren’t at breakfast the next morning.

“Queen Dolce sent word,” the King says, over his meal, “They require time to recover from their travels. I’m sure they’ll make an appearance this afternoon. It would be appropriate, Logan, for you to offer Prince Julian a tour of the grounds.”

“I’m not sure a day with me is his idea of a good time.”

John sighs, leveling Logan with a stern look, “Perhaps you should try a little harder, then. I found you a _Prince_ to marry, Logan, there’s not exactly many to go around.”

“But did it have to be _this_ one?”

“For gods’ sake, Logan, he’s perfectly acceptable!”

“He’s irritating.”

“Many would say the same about you.”

Michelle looks up sharply, “ _Johnny_.”

“Most heirs don’t get a choice,” the King continues, ignoring his wife, “I didn’t, with your mother. My father didn’t. His father, before that. But I found you the best option possible, and I expect you to make the most of it.”

“I _tried_!” Logan exclaims, “I was polite, just like you ordered. And _he_ was a royal dick.”

“You had two interactions with him. You can’t judge a man’s character by five minutes of conversation.”

“Maybe he was just tired,” Michelle offers, “It’s six days’ ride from King Travis’s palace to ours. I’m sure he just needed a good rest.”

“We’ll have food sent to his chambers, too,” the King adds, “He seemed to like the sweets last night, I’ll have the chefs prepare some.”

He turns back to his breakfast, which Logan takes as the end of the conversation.

He tries to enjoy the beginning of his day, sans-Julian. He tracks down Derek, pulls him out to the training ground and tosses a sword his way. Derek’s a worthy opponent, most days.

Today, though, he seems more interested in _talking_.

“He’s pretty, for a man,” Derek says, parrying Logan’s first blow, “You _are_ into that, aren’t you? Pretty boys?”

“That doesn’t mean I like _him_.”

“I don’t know,” Derek blocks another swing, wincing a little as the energy behind it jostles him, “I’ve never seen you look as intense as you did during your dance with him.”

“I only looked _intense_ because I was focusing on not punching him.”

“Or because you were trying not to kiss him.”

In lieu of a response, Logan swings his sword around, side-steps just enough to throw Derek off his game and smacks the flat end of the weapon against Derek’s chainmail. The man grunts, drops his own sword and grips his waist.

“Well don’t take it out on _me!”_ He growls, rubbing at his side, “I’m not the one forcing you to marry him.”

“Well I have nobody _else_ to take it out on.”

“How about me?”

Logan cringes — visibly — as Julian’s voice reaches his ears. He hears Derek snort out a laugh, turns on his heel and narrows his eyes at the man leaning against the wall of the training grounds.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see that stories of your battlefield prowess are vastly overrated.”

“ _Oh shit_ ,” Derek mutters.

“ _Overrated_?” Logan snaps, “I just beat him!”

“You rely on your strength too much,” Julian says, swinging over the wall. Logan narrows his eyes at him, watching as Julian moves to the weapons display and runs his fingers over the array of swords.

“My strength. You mean the primary thing that actually _wins_ swordfights?”

“It’s important, of course,” Julian says, “But there are other things that are important, too. Speed. Agility. Flexibility.”

“You know your dancing skills don’t exactly translate onto the battlefield, don’t you?”

“Don’t they?”

Julian moves forward quickly, the tip of his blade just barely missing Logan’s arm. Logan’s forced to spin in a tight circle to dodge it, take two steps backward and holds his blade lengthwise in front of his body.

“Taking someone off-guard isn’t exactly playing fair,” Logan says, thrusting his sword forward.

Julian blocks it with a smirk, “Like I said, your highness, you need to be _flexible_.”

Logan isn’t quite sure when they begin to draw a crowd. He couldn’t even begin to guess how long they spend dueling. All he can focus on is Julian’s sharp, focused eyes, the quick movement of his feet, the swing of his blade.

Logan’s never fought someone quite like this.

Julian’s not the most technically skilled swordsman Logan’s come up against. He doesn’t seem to be following any one particular technique, but that only serves to make him hard to predict. He’s quick on his feet, able to bounce back even when Logan thinks he’s overpowered him.

It’s the flip that catches him off-guard.

He manages to knock the sword out of Julian’s hand, grins with the rush of _finally_ defeating him. But just as he’s bringing his weapon to point at the center of Julian’s chest, the man springs backwards, turning mid-air and landing on the tips of his toes. Logan hesitates just long enough, and Julian moves just quick enough, and suddenly Logan’s weaponless, the tip of a sword pointed straight at his nose.

Julian’s chest is heaving, his skin flushed with exertion. But he’s smiling, proudly, speaking with a breathy voice.

“Do you yield?”

Logan doesn’t want to say the words. He wants nothing more than to kick a cloud of sand at Julian, to shove him to the ground and jab that sword through _him_.

But that wouldn’t be honorable.

“I yield,” he says, through gritted teeth, and a smattering of applause rings across the grounds. Julian looks delighted, tosses his sword aside and makes an exaggerated bow in the direction of his adoring fans.

Logan could strangle him.

Derek catches him, as he storms off the grounds.

“Don’t talk to me,” he snarls, knowing it won’t fend the other man off.

“It’s not like he humiliated you,” Derek says, jogging alongside him to keep up, “It was a pretty even match. Even _you_ have to lose sometimes.”

“Not to _him_.”

“Oh come on,” Derek rolls his eyes, “I’ve beaten you before, and you didn’t flip out like this.”

“That was different. _You’re_ not a smug asshole about it.”

“I am sometimes. Maybe he was trying to impress you.”

Logan stops in his tracks, “ _Impress_ me?”

“I mean, maybe. I’ve talked to some of the men he brought with him. Apparently all any of them knew about you wasthat you’re skilled at fighting and you enjoy reading.”

“So what, you think he learned swordsmanship to show off?”

“Oh, I don’t think _anyone_ could get that good so quickly. But maybe it’s why he challenged you.”

“Yes, because humiliating a Prince in front of his own people is the perfect way of impressing someone.”

“Well have you bothered to ask about _his_ interests?”

That gives Logan pause, “I…he likes sweets.”

Derek doesn’t look impressed, “As do most people, you know.”

“He…I…I suppose I didn’t really ask about his interests. My father told me I had to marry him, and I just—I guess it didn’t seem important, to know much about him.”

“I could ask, if you’d like.”

“Maybe,” Logan considers for a moment, nodding slightly, “Who knows, maybe we _somehow_ have something in common.”

It doesn’t take long for Derek to find the information he’d set out for.

“He’s friends with his guards,” he says, sliding into the seat beside Logan’s at supper that night, “The brunette one with the scary eyes and the tall blonde guy? I had _three_ people tell me they know him better than anyone.”

“So I should talk to them, then?”

“No need,” Derek grins, stealing a grape from Logan’s plate and popping it into his mouth, “Already did.”

Logan waits a beat, “…and?”

Derek shrugs, “They didn’t give up much. They both seem to like him though, which seems like a good sign.”

“So you got nowhere.”

“He likes music.”

“Music.”

“Like you. Maybe he’d like to hear you play, sometime.”

“I don’t play for anyone.”

“He’s going to be your _husband_. It’s not like those performances Queen Michelle used to make you put on at parties.”

“So that’s it, then? All he likes is music?”

“No,” Derek frowns a little, “But I’m not really sure how to make the other one work — apparently their kingdom hosts a traveling performance troupe, twice a year.”

“What kind of performance?”

“They act out stories, I guess? Fables? They said it’s Prince Julian’s favorite time of year.”

“Interesting,” Logan leans back in his chair, mulling over the information. Julian isn’t sitting too far away, and he frowns back in confusion when Logan looks over at him. But Logan just smiles back, raises his wine glass in a silent toast.

It isn’t as hard to arrange as he’d thought. Turns out, there’s a traveling troupe moving through the kingdom _right now_ , not too far from the palace. The King had never really been a patron of the arts, so the invitation for them to perform at the following night’s banquet is met with a great deal of surprise.

“We haven’t _rehearsed_ , my lord,” the leader says nervously, when Logan calls him into the throne room, “A performance for the palace, it must be _perfect_.”

“But you’ve rehearsed for your palaces in the village, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, my lord, but—”

“You won’t be punished,” Logan promises, “I don’t need it to be perfect. I’m sure you’ll do the job quite nicely.”

They aren’t bad.

They aren’t _perfect_ , of course — even Logan notices a few jokes that don’t quite land as intended, a few stumbles in their rehearsed lines. But when he looks across the room, Julian looks like a completely different person. His eyes are bright, shining, his mouth slightly open as he stares at the skit in front of him. He laughs at the funny bits, gasps at the twist mid-plot, puts a hand over his chest and _sighs_ when the lead couple join hands at the end.

The courtiers gathered around applaud at the ending, and Logan joins in.

“That was good,” he says lightly, and Michelle smiles.

“How would you know?” She asks, “When you spent the whole time watching Prince Julian?”

Logan feels his face heat up.

“This was very sweet,” Michelle continues, “Arranging this for him. It seems he appreciated it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh, he did. Look, he’s heading this way now.”

Michelle squeezes his shoulder, dropping a light kiss against his cheek and vanishing from his side as Julian steps close. He’s smiling, that same bright look in his eyes.

“I hear you’re the one who invited the actors,” he says, “They didn’t tell me you enjoyed theatre.

“I don’t. I mean — I’ve never seen it before,” Logan admits, “But I heard you like it, and so I thought…”

He trails off, blinking in shock as Julian darts forward. He leans up on his toes, presses his lips against Logan’s cheek for the briefest of moments. It feels different from Michelle’s kiss, a hot spark that radiates against his skin. Before Logan can even comprehend the gesture, Julian pulls away, his smile a little softer.

“Thank you,” he says, “It reminded me of home.”

 _Home_.

The word swirls in Logan’s head, long after Julian’s disappeared back into the crowd.

 _Of course_.

It’s not that Julian hates him. It’s that Julian’s being pulled away from the only home he’s ever known, shoved into a new life in a kingdom he’s never stepped foot in before. He’s probably _terrified_ , in this new place. Homesick.

Alone.

He has his mother there now, of course. His personal guards, his retinue. But it’s customary, as it is in most kingdoms, for the spouse leaving their home to abandon their own people, to take on a household from his or her new home. While Logan’s life isn’t changing much, other than the addition of a single person, Julian’s whole _world_ is turning upside down.

It makes Logan re-think everything he knows about Prince Julian.

Julian doesn’t appear at breakfast the next morning.

It’s the last day of the official visit — this evening, Queen Dolce and her household will being the journey back to their home, bringing the rest of Julian’s men with them. Julian, however, will remain her. The wedding ceremony won’t take place for a few weeks, though the contracts will all be signed today.

Logan needs to speak with him.

Now.

He tries Julian’s chambers, first, but the guard — the brunette one Derek described as having _scary eyes_ — shakes his head.

“He’s not in there,” he says, before Logan can ask, “He said he needed to clear his head.”

“He didn’t bring guards with him?”

“He never does,” the other, the blonde, says, “Prefers to be alone, even when it’s not the best of ideas.”

“Do you have any idea where he _might_ be?”

The two share a look, as if they’re unsure whether or not to give up their prince’s secret. It’s the blonde that finally speaks, after a careful look at Logan.

“I don’t know precisely,” he says, “But he asked one of your men which part of the palace had the best view of the kingdom.”

Logan lets out a sigh of relief, “I know where he is, then. Thank you.”

He rushes off again, taking the steps two at a time as he ascends the staircase to the North Tower. It’s the highest point of the palace, used long ago as a look-out post. Now, it’s almost deserted, empty save for the lone prince leaning against the turret wall. He doesn’t move, as Logan steps forward, doesn’t turn his eyes away from whatever he’s staring at.

“It _is_ beautiful,” he says softly, as Logan moves to stand beside him, “I can almost see home, from here. See there, just beyond the forest?”

“On clear days, you can see the shimmer from the river,” Logan tells him, “Not far from your palace.”

“This is my palace now.”

“…it doesn’t have to be.”

That finally makes Julian turn, “Are you rejecting me? I know I’ve been a bit…brash. But I was under the impression you had just as little say in this as I did.”

“I’m not rejecting you. I’m giving you a choice.”

“A choice to go back to my kingdom in shame? To explain to my father that I couldn’t gain the favor of the man he chose for me?”

“I’ll say it was my choice,” Logan tells him, “My father expects me to be difficult. I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise.”

Julian just stares at him, for a moment, “You know, you’re not what I expected.”

“You’re not what I expected, either.”

“I make you angry, don’t I?”

“Immeasurably so.”

“Not exactly what you want in a husband, I’m sure.”

“Not exactly. But you also…it’s not just…” Logan sighs with frustration, unable to put his thoughts into words, “Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“The fight. Were you trying to show off for me?”

Julian laughs, ducking his head a little, “I may have been.”

“I knew it.”

“You’re a hard person to get information on, you know. Swordsmanship was all I had. I guess I should have let you win.”

“That might’ve made me angrier.”

“So there was no winning?”

“Maybe…” Logan takes a breath, “Maybe we both came into this wrong. Preconceived notions, and all that.”

“Or maybe I was just unnecessarily rude.”

“I understand this is hard for you.”

Julian looks away, “It’s my duty.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be painful.”

Julian says nothing, and Logan reaches for the man’s hand, squeezing lightly. It’s warm, and Julian doesn’t pull away.

“…I know it’s not traditional,” Logan says, “But I’d like for you to keep some of your men. I can talk my father into it, I’m sure. Not many, he won’t like the idea of a whole foreign army inside his home. But a handful. Your favorites.”

Julian looks startled, “I…two. I’d only really want to keep the two. If they’re willing, of course.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that.”

“Why?”

“I’d like you to feel comfortable here, Julian.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Julian looks down at their linked hands, “What will it be like?”

“What, marriage?”

“Our marriage. They say your father loves his Queen more than anything. That he hasn’t so much as looked at another woman since they married.”

“He hasn’t.”

“My parents aren’t the same.”

“Oh?”

“They get along, well enough,” Julian says, “But it’s all political. My mother’s in love with the head of her personal guard, and my father…last I heard, he was spending his nights with a scullery maid.”

“So that’s what you expected? A political arrangement, nothing more?”

“I assumed it was the best I could hope for.”

“But is it what you want?”

Julian raises his eyes to Logan’s face. His gaze is intense, searching. It almost makes Logan feel a little bit _nervous_.

“I could fall in love with you,” he says, rather than answering Logan’s question, “Easily.”

It’s a surprising thing to hear, “You could?”

“You hated me,” Julian says, “And you still arranged for a theatre performance, just because you knew I’d like it.”

“I didn’t hate you.”

“You didn’t like me.”

“I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”

“And now?”

“…I could fall in love with you, too.”

This time, the kiss doesn’t come as a shock. But Logan tilts his own chin as Julian moves forward, this time catching his lips with his mouth, rather than his cheek. The other prince makes a soft noise of surprise, but makes no effort to pull away.

It’s soft, almost chaste, and Logan doesn’t want it to end.

Still, he can’t feel too poorly when Julian pulls away, not when he laughs breathily, ducking his head to hide red-stained cheeks.

“Well,” he says softly, “That…”

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be at the ceremony,” Logan says, reaching up to tuck a loose curl behind Julian’s ear, “I’d much prefer something like that to be just ours.”

Julian smiles, “ _Ours_. I like that.”

“As do I. So, what do you say we start over?”

“Well, not start over _entirely_ ,” Julian says, his eyes twinkling, “After all, I _did_ like the part where I knocked your sword from your hand.”

“And I suppose _I_ like the part where I won you over with a theatre performance.”

“I liked that part, too.”

“So no starting over, then?”

Julian hums, “How about…doing better, instead?”

“I think I can do better.”

“Me too.”

“So…” Logan takes a step forward, brushing his hand against Julian’s arm, “Maybe we could start by trying that kiss, again?”

“Well I’m not sure it could _get_ much better,” Julian says, moving closer, “But I’m willing to try if you are.”


	42. Mr. and Mr. Wright

Logan’s not entirely sure how he managed to land his husband.

He’s still not even sure how Julian was even single in the first place, how he hadn’t been snatched up years before they met.

But meet they had.

That first night had been a bit of a whirlwind. Julian had approached him first, and Logan had been more than a little taken aback as he followed the most beautiful man he’d ever seen onto the dance floor, then into bed.

Logan shouldn’t have fallen as hard as he did. He’d been sent to Caracas on _business_ , sent with a very important goal.

He’d come back with a husband.

It’s odd, he muses, pulling into the driveway of their shared home. His job never really allowed him the freedom to date, to have a social life.Yet it had been his job that led him to Julian, that introduced him to his beautiful, perfect husband.

“Honey,” he calls, as he steps through the front door, “I’m home.”

He hears Julian’s quiet laugh from the kitchen, at the precise moment a beautiful smell hits his nostrils.

“I smell chicken,” he continues, dropping his keys on the counter, “Cheese?”

“Right on both,” Julian turns away from the oven, the kitschy _Mr. Wright_ apron Logan had made as a gag gift wrapped around his waist, “Chicken parmesan. It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes or so, if you want to go change first.”

Logan _does_ want to — is aching to peel off the thick jacket and dark slacks. He’s been in all day. But first things first, of course.

Julian hums as Logan winds one arm around his waist, meets him halfway for a deep kiss. He smells like garlic and spices, tastes like the sickly sweet coffee Logan knows he sips at all day while working from his home office. This is Logan’s favorite part of the day — coming home from a long day of work to his beautifully domestic husband, a nice home-cooked meal always on the stove.

Didn’t he get lucky?

“Okay,” Julian laughs lightly, pressing both hands against Logan’s chest, “I have to finish the salad. Go.”

Logan leans in for one more soft peck, smiling when Julian thwacks him on the arm with a dishtowel. He heads up the stairs, pausing a moment to admire the framed wedding photo hanging on the wall. Julian must have been busy cleaning today, judging by the pristine state of the house, the vacuum lines on the carpet. It prompts him to be extra careful in changing — he lines his shoes up in the closet, ensures his clothes are neatly hung up.It’d be a shame to ruin his husband’s hard work, after all.

He can still hear Julian in the kitchen. He’s singing along to the radio he has playing, and Logan knows he won’t be heard over the music.

Julian’s a little shorter than him. He’d never have reason to look at the top of the shelving unit in the closet. He’d never see the hidden button set into the wood. Logan presses it, and a drawer flips open with a soft _click_.

He’d had to start wearing his weapon in a holster around his calf, when he’d brought Julian home. There’s too great of a chance of him finding a gun strapped to Logan’s waist, and Logan has no desire to give up his welcome-home kisses. He bends down, slips the Glock free of the straps, and tucks it neatly into his hidden case before sliding the drawer back into place.

All couples have secrets, right?

 

.

 

Julian loves his husband. He does.

Sure, Logan had come along at a convenient time. Julian’s best cover had just been blown, and he’d needed a clean getaway. Logan had been beautiful, and alone, and had smiled so brightly when Julian asked him to dance. He’d been so amenable, had moved so _fast_ , and the ring had seemed like the perfect opportunity. He’d become _Julian Wright_ , had moved into the perfect house in the suburbs, had invited a whole new cover for himself as a _marketing consultant_. Logan never questioned anything, not when he had a warm dinner and warmer bed to come home to.

The love had surprised even Julian.

Logan is convenient. But he’s also warm, loving. He pulls Julian into his arms every evening, kisses him goodbye every morning. Touches Julian like he’s something precious, fucks him like he can’t get enough. It’s everything.

Sure, this life isn’t exactly what he wants. He doesn’t want to slave over a hot stove all day, isn’t even sure he knows how to turn their oven on — the delicious dinners are all Mikey’s doing, and Julian’s eternally grateful for his talented associates. He’s not a huge fan of the suburbs, having grown up in big cities himself. But it’s quiet enough, and nobody seems to expect that his job isn’t at all what he claims.

Maybe it’s how _Logan_ hid for so long, too.

The reveal shocks Julian to his core.

Cameron’s the one who finds out. He’d been trailing a mark for _months_ , had been feet away when a bullet shredded through his upper arm. He’d lost his objective immediately, dropping his weapon and clutching at his wound. But he’d managed to get eyes on the man who shot him, had recognized him clearly from the wedding picture.

“No,” Julian says, when they tell him, “You must’ve been confused. It can’t have been Logan.”

“It was,” Cameron says, grimly, “Raven pulled the security footage from the building over. It was wiped, mostly, but we found him leaving.”

They pull up the feed, and Julian’s blood runs cold as his husband’s face fills the screen.

“But — but it’s _Logan_ ,” Julian says, “Logan, he’s — he’s an _accountant_ , for gods’ sake! He buys me flowers and plays the piano and stops breathing if he catches a whiff of _peanut butter_.”

“Good,” Corey says, a little too matter-of-factly, “Then it’ll be easy to make his death look like an accident.”

“I’m not killing my _husband!_ ”

Clark leans forward, “Julian, he’s the enemy. This is what we do.”

“He can’t be. I would know if my husband was a contract killer.”

Clark and Cameron share a look, “What, like he would know about you?”

“Maybe he does,” Sinclair says, quietly, “It’d be smart. Get close to the target, find out his secrets.”

“…you think Logan’s using me?”

“I think it’s a distinct possibility.”

It’s an awful prospect. Julian hasn’t given any hints to his actual mode of employment. He keeps all his supplies in a hidden compartment of the trunk of his car, tucked away underneath his spare tire. He knows Logan will never find it there, had actually heard the man suggest calling a tow truck the one time he’d gotten a flat on the highway. But if Logan already _knew_ , if he’d somehow bugged Julian’s person…

“…so what do I do?”

The others look around the room. Clark seems to draw the short straw in the silent game of _Not It_ , takes a deep breath and rests a hand on Julian’s shoulder.

“You know what to do,” he says, softly, “We just need you to tell _us how to help you.”_

 

_._

 

Logan knew his husband was smart.

It’s one of his favorite things about Julian — that he can rattle off answers to _Jeopardy_ like it’s nothing, can quote Shakespeare in casual conversation.

He had no idea Julian was smart enough to hide a whole life.

He can’t stop thinking about it, on his drive home from work. That his husband, his beautiful, chicken parm-cooking husband, is a _killer_.

Like him.

Julian is smart.

Which is why Logan can’t understand why he’d try to use _peanut oil_ to kill him.

He can smell it even before he enters the house. He takes a deep breath of cool, fresh air, readying himself as he steps through the front door.

“Honey,” he says, in the same cheery tone as always, “I’m home.”

“Hi, babe!” Julian calls, “Stir-fry tonight. Be ready any minute.”

Logan heads into the kitchen, scanning the room carefully. Julian’s stirring at a pan on the stove. There’s a bottle of wine on the table, two glasses set beside it.

“The good stuff,” Logan says, examining the label, “We celebrating something?”

Julian looks over his shoulder, smiling, “Just us. Isn’t that good enough?”

“Of course it is.”

He drifts forward, rests one hand on the small of Julian’s back. He’s sure he’s not imagining the way Julian stiffens just a little, the hesitation in his movement before he leans back into the touch and cranes his neck for a kiss.

Logan wonders if it’s always been like this.

He’s not sure if the feeling in his throat is emotional pain or physical.

He hopes it’s the peanut oil.

Julian isn’t surprised when Logan heads upstairs to change. It’s all part of their routine, after all. Routine is good. Routine isn’t suspicious. Logan changes quickly, this time leaving his gun strapped to his leg. He grabs a small knife from his hidden store as well, tucking it into the waistband of the pants he changes into. The Epipen he stabs himself with should buy him enough time to get a leg up on Julian.

Enough time to kill his husband.

 

.

 

Logan knows.

Julian’s not blind. He _knows_ Logan knows. He’d seen the careful way Logan stepped into the kitchen, the way his nostrils flared and the way his eyes narrowed at the food on the stove.

Still, he has to keep up the act.

He spoons the stir-fry onto two plates, pours two full glasses of wine. Pops a Xanax, for him.

He’s only seen Logan have an allergic reaction once. He’s not sure how well he’ll handle seeing him die of one.

When Logan returns from the bedroom, he’s holding himself a little more stiffly than usual. Julian eyes him quickly, taking stock of the gun strapped above his ankle, the knife he’s trying to hide at his hip. The knife will be easy enough to reach, he knows, but the gun…

…not nearly as convenient as the one Julian has strapped under the table.

“It looks delicious,” Logan says, taking his seat, “Must’ve taken you ages.”

“Anything for my husband.”

Logan knows.

Julian knows that Logan knows.

Logan knows Julian knows that Logan knows.

There’s a brief moment of tension. Logan eyes his fork, but makes no move to eat. Julian’s fingers are wrapped around his wine glass, but he makes no move to drink.

Logan’s the one who breaks the silence.

“Peanut oil, Jules? Really?”

Julian’s free hand brushes over the weapon hidden just above his knee, “I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. You always said just the smell would knock you down. Yet here you are.”

“Here I am. Not that easy, baby.”

“I don’t know. I always thought you were pretty easy.”

He sees Logan’s movement before it happens. He knows what he’s reaching for, can see him reaching for the Glock at his leg.

Julian has his own handgun pointed between Logan’s eyes before the blonde can bend down.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, firmly, “I made you this nice dinner, you wouldn’t want to ruin it, would you?”

“Can I just ask you one thing? Did you get what you wanted? Whatever information you needed from me?”

Julian wishes it were that simple. It would make killing him easier.

“Of course I did,” he lies, “I wouldn’t be doing this if you were still useful.”

“So you knew, then. You knew exactly who I was, that night in Caracas. The night you asked me to dance.”

He hadn’t.

“Of course I did. You really think you’re _that_ good? That someone like me would fall madly in love with you after one dance, just because you said I looked _beautiful in the moonlight_?”

He had.

“Good,” Logan says, a sickly-sweet smile on his face, “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Julian knew Logan was strong. He’d felt that strength work to his advantage, more than once, when Logan heaved him up against a wall and fucked him until he _sobbed_. But he’s never seen Logan’s strength quite like this.

He’s sent flying out of his chair as the table flips. It’s lucky he has such quick reactions, lucky he’s flexible enough to land on his feet. But it gives Logan enough of a time advantage, gives him just enough time to pull his own gun out of his holster.

It’s pointed right at Julian’s temple. Logan’s finger hovers over the trigger, and his eyes narrow as he perfects his aim.

But his arm is shaking.

“Do it,” Julian says, taunting, “Fucking do it, you coward.”

“I will.”

“Then _do it_. Kill me, you piece of _shit_.”

Logan’s finger twitches, once, and Julian stills. But then his arm drops heavily to his side, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

It’s Julian’s shot. The _perfect_ shot. Logan’s unarmed, and Julian’s got a full chamber. He knows this is it. His moment.

But he can’t take it.

He drops his own arm, lets his gun clatter against the hardwood. Logan looks surprised, and Julian can’t pull his eyes away from his husband’s face.

“…so now what?”

 

 

.

 

 

It could be a trick.

It’s _very likely_ that it’s a trick, a rouse to force Logan’s guard down. But he can’t help it. Despite everything, despite all the _lies_ , he loves his husband.

Julian doesn’t melt in his arms, like usual.

Instead, Julian pushes _back_ , digs his teeth into Logan’s lower lip and yanks at his clothes. Logan shoves him back against the wall, and Julian winds his legs around Logan’s waist, climbing up his body until Logan’s forced to angle his own chin _up_ to kiss him.

They fuck up against the dining room wall. Again, on the kitchen island. Julian rides him on the stairs, blows him in the hall. It’s angry and rough, and so much _hotter_ than ever before.

After, Logan spends _hours_ trailing his fingers over Julian’s skin. It’s riddled with bruises and scars, most of which Logan’s caused himself over the past few hours.

“What’s this one?” He asks, running his thumb over a crescent-shaped scar on Julian’s hips.

“Bullet wound, in Latakia. About six years ago,” Julian tells him, “What about this one? On your shoulder?”

“Asshole in Prague. Ran me through with a metal stake.”

Julian winces.

“The one on your neck? You said it was from falling off a bike as a kid, but…”

“Knife,” Julian murmurs, rubbing at the thin silvery line, “Closest I’ve ever come to dying.”

“When was that?”

“About four days before we met.”

“Is that why you…?”

“Part of the reason.”

“And the other part?”

Julian looks up, “It’s my turn for a question. Why did you propose?”

Logan sucks in a breath, “Because…because being with you felt different than anything else ever had. Because something about you just felt… _right_. Why did you say yes?”

“Same reason.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not,” Julian leans up on one arm, brushes his fingers across Logan’s chin, “I never meant to fall in love with you.You kind of just…snuck up on me.”

“So this is real, then?” Logan reaches for Julian’s hand, stares at their identical wedding bands, “Other than the lying about what we do for a living, I mean?”

“I also can’t cook,” Julian admits, “One of my colleagues has made every meal we’ve had since day one. And I hire a cleaning crew. I’ve never mopped. I don’t even know how to use the microwave.”

Logan can’t help but laugh, “So not exactly the domestic sort. Good to know. For the record, I wouldn’t mind us living off of take-out from here on out.”

Julian raises an eyebrow, “Future. You still want…”

“I _do_ still love you, after all. Even if you’re not exactly what I thought. And if you still want to…”

“I do.”

“Then we can start over. It’ll be messy, I’m sure. There’s a pretty good chance we’re going to have to flee the country. But I think it could be worth it. What do you say?”

Julian considers, “…could we take you to the hospital first? I _did_ almost send you into anaphylactic shock.”

“That’s probably a good idea. We should get you checked out, too, don’t think I didn’t hear that crack when I threw you against the living room wall.”

“Yeah,” Julian laughs a little, bringing a hand to his chest, “You might’ve fractured a rib. I was gonna power through it.”

“So hospital first, then we come up with a plan to flee the country?”

“Sounds perfect.”


	43. Sleeping Beauty

The war is over.

It had been a long, grueling, at times discouraging battle. But in the end, they’d won. King Adam’s rule had crumbled before them, and King John had set to work rebuilding the ruined empire.

Logan, though, had been sent on a much different task.

He’d heard the stories of the Sleeping Beauty, of course. Everyone had. The stories of a man so beautiful, of King Adam’s all-consuming obsession with him. They say the King’s jealousy had compelled him to lock the man away, for fear of anyone else setting eyes on his prize. That he’d consorted with sorcerers to bring the man into a dreamless sleep, to preserve his youth eternally. That the man had been locked away in a far-off castle, confined to a tower so tall it lived amongst the clouds. That the King had found a _dragon_ , once thought to be extinct, to guard his prize.

He’d always thought it to be a lie.

But then they’d taken Adam’s castle, and found the portrait.

Locked away in the private rooms of the King, shrouded in a thick curtain, the man’s beauty hadn’t been exaggerated. If anything, the tales hadn’t described his beauty by half. The man’s skin seemed to _glow_ , even imagined in paint, and his dark eyes held an intriguing sparkle. Even King John had raised an eyebrow at the portrait, and sent out his men to find evidence of the Sleeping Beauty’s existence.

They’d come back with the artist — a frightened, short-statured man with a mess of curls atop his head.

“He’s real,” the man stuttered out, when questioned by the King, “I’m not sure what Adam did with him, exactly. But I can tell you he’s real. He used to keep him in here, with at least two guards. But then…he just disappeared. Nobody’s seen him in three years.”

That had been enough.

King John wanted to bring prestige to the kingdom, to improve the image of his family, his legacy.

And Logan never could back down from a challenge.

He’d enlisted Derek’s help, to narrow down the location of the tower. They had vague witness accounts, rumors of a dragon circling overhead, of a sky-high tower spotted by a disbelieving border guard.

Still, the journey had taken _months_. They’d traveled over hill and valley, nearly worn down their horses as they searched for the rumored tower. Then, finally, Derek had spotted a glimmer of something, high over the tree tops. They’d set out at a full gallop, ridden hard for a full day.

Logan had nearly _cried_ when they’d finally come upon the palace.

 _Derek_ had nearly cried when they’d run into the thick bramble of thorns surrounding it.

“He already had him locked in a tower this far from civilization, were the branches necessary?”

Logan sighs, dismounting from his horse and tentatively approaching the thorns, “I suppose people act irrationally when they’re in love.”

“This isn’t love,” Derek sneers, poking at one spindly branch, “Nobody imprisons someone they _love_.”

“Well he won’t be imprisoned long.”

Derek takes a startled step back as Logan swings his sword in a wide arc, hacking at the thorns. It’s not quite as effective as he’d like — he manages to clear about a foot of the branches. He raises his sword again, widening his arc this time.

“Congratulations,” Derek says drily, as another tangle of branches falls at their feet, “At this rate, we’ll be halfway to the tower by your coronation.”

“Well,” Logan snaps, heaving his sword aloft, “Perhaps it’d go quicker if I had some _help_.”

They work through the night. It’s lucky there’s a full moon tonight, providing just enough light that they can make out the path in front of them. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon when they clear the way fully. Logan steps over the last of the downed branches, peers through the dim light at the castle entrance just before them.

He doesn’t have time to feel triumphant before a loud, threatening growl has both men looking up.

“Shit,” Derek breathes, stepping a little closer to Logan, “Looks like the dragon wasn’t just a fairytale, either.”

The creature is huge, so much bigger than Logan could have imagined. It’s covered in dark green scales, its large golden eyes fixed on the two men standing in front of the castle.

“You couldn’t have killed us _before_ we cut through the bramble?” Derek calls out, visibly irritated.

The dragon makes a noise, something that almost sounds like a _laugh_ , and cranes its large neck down. Derek takes another step back, but Logan stands firm as the dragon peers at him, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.

“Look,” he snarls, “I’ve traveled too far for far too long. I _will_ rescue the Sleeping Beauty, and I won’t be stopped by something that’s meant to be extinct.”

The dragon’s head tilts, as if it understands Logan’s words. Logan’s prepared for another growl, prepared to leap away from a sudden burst of flames.

What he’s _not_ prepared for is for the dragon to turn its head _away_ , to breathe a pointed plume of fire at the door of the castle. Logan shields his eyes from the bright light, cringes away from the heat. After a moment, the dragon turns away, taking to the sky with a powerful flap of wings.

“Oh my god,” Derek murmurs, “It _helped_ us.”

Logan turns. The thick bars of metal barring the door shut had melted away, the wooden doors fallen to char. They have to step over the tendrils of smoke, avoiding the still-burning fragments underfoot.

The castle is considerably nicer than expected. It’s _clean_ , first off, clear of the cobwebs and thick layers of dust the stories had spoken of. There’s a long table set up, topped with plates of fruits. They walk through a massive library, and Logan runs his fingers over the open book sitting atop a velvet chair. It’s almost as if the castle has been lived in, but for the very obvious lack of occupants.

The staircase to the tower is set in the center of the ballroom.

“You stay down here,” Logan orders, as he makes his way up the stairs, “Yell if anyone else comes in.”

“Who else would _want_ to?”

Logan ignores him. It’s a long, arduous walk after the journey he’s had. The staircase winds in tight circles, and Logan does his best to maintain his pace, to keep moving despite his exhaustion. He’s not quite sure how long he’s climbed. But then suddenly, as if from nowhere, he finds himself stepping into an elaborately-decorated room. He pushes his way through gauzy red-and-orange curtains, moves into a room full of oak furniture and thick blankets. The bed is empty, and for one brief moment, Logan considers the fact that he’s not the first to try to rescue the Sleeping Beauty. But then he looks past the four-poster, and his breath catches.

There, curled up on a cushion-covered seat in front of the window, is the most beautiful man Logan’s ever seen. He looks completely at peace, his head resting against the stone wall beside him. His dark curls fall over his eyes, closed in slumber, and his chest rises and falls steadily as Logan walks over to him.

The legends say the Sleeping Beauty can only be woken with a kiss. So Logan bends down to one knee, brushes the man’s hair from his face, and softly presses his lips against the Beauty’s.

The man stirs a little, making a soft noise in his throat as Logan pulls away. His eyes flutter open, and Logan stares at the golden flecks shining within the deep brown.

“…not that I’m complaining,” the man murmurs, “But I believe it’s polite to ask permission, first.”

Logan frowns, “I believe _you_ should be thanking me.”

“Mm-hm. For what, exactly?”

“For…for rescuing you?”

The man looks puzzled. He sits up, crossing his legs in front of him, “Rescuing me? I wasn’t aware that I was in danger.”

“You’re locked in a _tower_ ,” Logan says, disbelieving, “Guarded by a _dragon_. It took us hours to hack through the thorns keeping you here. Who knows how long you’ve been asleep for…”

“You destroyed my roses?”

“Your—they were _thorns_.”

“Well they’re not in season, but they would’ve come back.”

“But they were…and the _dragon_.”

“Oh no,” the man’s eyes widen, “Please tell me you didn’t kill Riley.”

“That thing has a _name_?”

“Of course he has a name. And he’s not keeping me here against my will. I hired him to guard me.”

“ _You_ hired him?” Logan frowns, “You _hired_ a…he’s a _dragon_.”

“Only sometimes,” the man explains, “He doesn’t prefer it, but it’s a lot more threatening than his human form.”

“His _human_ form?”

The man just nods at him, and Logan has to take a moment. He stands up, runs a hand through his hair, and tries to take all of this in.

“So…you’re not imprisoned here.”

The man scoffs, “Not at all. I’m here by choice.”

“And the dragon _works_ for you.”

“He does.”

“And he’s _human_.”

“Again — sometimes.”

“The sleeping, it’s not a curse.”

“No,” the man frowns, “I’m just tired a lot of the time. It’s not like there’s that much to do here by myself. Riley has to fly out for supplies a lot, food and stuff. He’s also kind of anti-social, spends most of his time in the library.”

“So King Adam didn’t put you here?”

The man’s face sours, “I put _myself_ here because of him. Because he wouldn’t take no for an answer when I said I wouldn’t marry him. And I’m not going back with you, not if you’re just going to drag me back to him. Riley may not _want_ to kill people, but if you try to take me against my will I’m sure he’d get over it.”

“I’m not taking you back to Adam. He’s — Adam’s dead.”

“…are you sure?”

“I killed him myself. He got too greedy, tried to take over my father’s lands. Four kingdoms fought against him, and he lost.”

“Adam’s dead?”

“He is.”

The man looks stunned. He blinks a few times, seems to be staring _through_ Logan. Then, in one fluid motion, he leaps to his feet, grabbing a small leather satchel from the corner and shoving things inside. A deep red cloak, a book, a small silver box. Once he’s done, he buckles the satchel, throws it over one shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Logan.

“Well?”

“…well, what?”

“You’re going to take me home.”

“…am I?”

“You came here to rescue me, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“So what did you intend to do after that kiss?”

Logan shifts uncomfortably, “The uh — the stories said if you woke up it was because I was your One True Love. That you’d be so overcome with gratitude that…”

“Oh, I see,” the man takes a step closer, fluttering his eyelashes, “I was meant to swoon into your arms, to let you carry me off, to be your doting, loving husband?”

“That’s not exactly — ”

“Look,” the man says, resting one hand on his hip, “It’s not that I’m not grateful. It’s just that you’re only the second person I’ve seen in over three years, and I’m not sure if I’m _actually_ attracted to you or just that deprived of human contact. So. Can we get on with it?”

Logan blinks, “I’ve been traveling for weeks to find you. _Weeks_.”

“And I’ve been here for three _years_.”

“So you wouldn’t mind another day. My knight and I could really use one decent night’s rest.”

The man sighs, dropping his bag heavily, “Fine. I suppose I could be kind enough to give you some food, since you worked so hard to _rescue_ me.”

“It would be appreciated.”

“Mind giving me your name, at least? So I don’t have to keep calling you Blondie in my mind?”

“It’s Logan. Prince Logan.”

“Ah, royalty,” the man bows lowly, with an elaborate wave of his hand, “Your highness. I’m Julian. No title, I’m afraid.”

Julian flounces away, moving past Logan and down to the winding staircase.

Derek’s eyes are wide when the pair appears in the banquet hall.

“Logan,” he says, softly, “The dragon. He’s a _person_.”

“Riley,” Logan says, “I know. This is — ”

“Julian. I know. The _dragon_ told me.”

“Where is Riley, anyway?” Julian asks, as he throws himself onto a chair. He pulls a bowl of fruit his way, popping a cherry into his mouth.

“I told him about Adam,” Derek says, still looking stunned, “He said he wanted to check and make sure, I guess? Before he turned back into a _dragon_.”

“You seem pretty hung up on that,” Julian nudges the bowl across the table, “Eat. Absorb. Dragons are real. They’re pretty useful. He can probably get us all back to wherever you came from ten times faster than you two planned.”

“Wait,” Logan rubs at his temple, “You want us to _ride_ a _dragon_?”

Julian shrugs, “It’s fun. I’ve done it.”

It’s not fun.

At all.

First off, Riley is kind of an ass.

“Are you sure you trust them?” He asks Julian, with Logan and Derek standing right there, “I mean, after all the effort we’ve gone through to keep this place locked down…”

“You saw for yourself, didn’t you? Adam’s dead. I’m _safe_. Even you thought they were innocent enough to let through.”

Riley eyes the pair suspiciously, “I’ve never carried three before.”

“We can hold on tight.”

“What if they’re just as bad as he is?”

That’s about all Logan can take.

“Look,” he says, “We came here to rescue someone we thought was imprisoned here. Once we’re back in my kingdom, he can do whatever he wants.”

“Plus,” Derek adds, “I’m pretty sure you could kill us both if we tried anything. Seeing as you’re a fucking _dragon_.”

Turns out, riding a dragon isn’t exactly like riding a horse. Julian climbs up with ease, but the other two struggle a bit, earning annoyed looks from the now dragon-ified Riley. Eventually, they make it up, and Julian grabs for Logan’s arm.

“Better hold on tight,” he says, pulling Logan’s arm around his waist, “Not sure anyone in your kingdom would believe me if I said their Prince died by falling off a dragon.”

When Riley takes flight, Logan’s jostled even closer to Julian. He can feel Derek hanging onto him from behind, too, but it’s Julian who pulls his attention.

“How did you even find a dragon?” He yells, over the rushing wind.

“He found me, actually,” Julian says, turning over his shoulder, “I tried to run myself. Made it three days into the forest before I ran out of food. When I woke up, he was watching me. Caught and cooked a chicken for me to eat. A little gross, but I was starving.”

“And he just agreed to hide you away?”

“The castle belonged to his family. His brother left to who-knows-where a few years ago, and I think he liked having some company.”

“So what was your plan? Hide out in that tower forever?”

Julian shrugs, “Better than being married to a man like Adam.”

“So what’s your plan _now_?”

The man is quiet, for some time, and Logan leans closer.

“My kingdom is nice,” he says, “We could claim you’re a Prince from some forgotten kingdom, you could live as nobility in the palace. My father’s splitting up Adam’s lands, I’m sure we could grant you a parcel to collect taxes from.”

“Nobility. What would I have to do, exactly?”

“Well…mostly, they just wear expensive clothes and eat food.”

Julian hums, “I think I’d be suited to something like that.”

Logan laughs, “You’ll have a dozen suitors, I hope you know. Some beautiful, mysterious Prince? They’ll eat you up.”

“But I won’t be forced to marry, right?”

“Of course not. You can be a bachelor for the rest of your life, if that’s what you want.”

“Are _you_ married?”

“No.”

Julian hums, casts one last glance at Logan, then turns to face forward. He doesn’t speak again, not until Riley lands in a clearing just south of the palace. They slide off his back, and Derek looks up at the dragon.

“He’s not staying, is he?” He asks, still regarding him warily.

“No,” Julian says, “He likes the quiet. Besides, I think he’s waiting for his brother to decide to come home.

He raises a hand in a wave, and Riley nods his large head at him as he takes to the sky once more. Derek shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “Fucking _dragons_.”

Getting the court to accept Julian’s presence is significantly easier than Logan anticipated. Perhaps it’s because of how strongly the tales of Sleeping Beauty had been latched onto, paired with the reality of Julian’s face. Even King John stands upon meeting him, though Logan’s sure he’s more pleased by his son’s success.

“Prince Julian,” he says, once Logan’s made his introductions, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you please, of course. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable.”

Julian takes to palace life quickly. Michelle seems giddy at the thought of having a willing model for all the latest men’s fashion, and Julian proves a better dance partner than either Logan or John. Logan’s prediction about his suitors had been spot-on — nearly every unmarried (and even some married) courtier expresses interest in him. Logan watches as Julian smiles, as he flirts and dances and allows all number of pretty men and women into his rooms.

Six months into Julian’s stay at the palace, Logan’s startled by a late-night knock on his door. He’s not completely surprised when he finds Julian waiting outside, nor when Julian steps past him and moves to sit on Logan’s chaise lounge.

“…is there something I can do for you, Prince Julian?”

“Stop calling me _Prince_ , for starters. You’re one of the few who knows it’s a lie.”

“My father granted you a title. It may be based in fiction, but it’s true now.”

“Just Julian, please. That way I don’t feel guilty calling you Logan.”

Logan nods, “Julian, then. What can I do for you?”

“Talk to me,” Julian says simply, rolling lazily onto his side, “Entertain me.”

“Have you run out of pretty young courtiers to be entertained by, then?” The words come out with a little more venom than Logan intended, but Julian waves it off.

“They were fun, I suppose. It’s flattering, really, to have so many interested.”

“I imagine.”

“You never seemed to be, though.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, have I offended you?”

“It just doesn’t make sense. That you traveled so far, for so long. Fought so hard. Believed you were rescuing your One True Love. Yet you never tried anything. I’ve been here half a year, and you’ve made no attempts to claim your prize.”

“You’ve had one man try to force you into marriage,” Logan says, “I have no desire to be the second.”

“So you’re not interested, then?”

Logan hesitates, “I didn’t say that.”

“So you _are_?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“I’m not asking about everyone. I’m asking about you.”

Julian’s gaze is intense, and Logan falters, “I — of course I’m interested.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean _why_?”

“I mean why,” Julian repeats, “ _Why_ are you interested?”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“So it’s just that I’m beautiful, then?”

“No. You’re clever, and you’re funny, and you’re brave.”

“Brave?”

“Julian,” Logan leans forward a bit, “You befriended a _dragon_.”

Julian lets out a laugh, “I suppose I did.”

“You escaped a _King,_ willingly locked yourself away for three years to keep yourself safe.”

“I did."

“You’re the bravest person I know.”

Julian stares, for a moment, “I know one braver.”

“Who?”

“A man,” Julian pushes himself off the lounge, rising to his feet, “A Prince. Who traveled for weeks. Who cut through a forest of thorns. Who prepared to fight a _dragon_. Just to save a stranger.”

“A beautiful stranger,” Logan clarifies, as Julian moves closer, “Maybe I wouldn’t have tried so hard, if you were a troll, or an ogre.”

“And you asked for no reward. Not even another kiss.”

“I told you. I wanted you to have a choice.”

“If this was my choice?” Julian lifts one hand, brushing his fingers across Logan’s cheek. Logan’s breath catches. He can barely form a single word.

“…Julian…”

This kiss is different. Julian’s the one who leans in, this time, bringing his hands up to Logan’s face as he presses their lips together. It’s longer, lingering, and when Julian pulls back, it’s only just far enough that he can gauge Logan’s reaction.

Logan, for his part, is a little too flustered to come up with something suave to say.

“I…I hope I’ve entertained you,” he says weakly.

Julian grins. He slides one hand down Logan’s chest, bites his lip and looks up through thick eyelashes.

“I can think of a few more ways you can entertain me,” he offers, and Logan has no complaints as he’s pushed back onto the bed.

 _Sleeping Beauty_ really is a fitting name, he thinks hours later, with Julian dozing in the crook of his arm. He really is a magnificent beauty. Logan brushes a lock of hair from the man’s eyes, just as he had all those months ago, and Julian stirs a little.

“Sh,” Logan hushes, stroking the man’s skin, “Go back to sleep.”

Julian burrows a little closer, tucking his face against Logan’s neck. His voice is sleepy, soft, and Logan only barely hears his words.

“You’ll be here?” He asks, “When I wake up?”

“I’ll kiss you awake every morning, if that’s what you want.”

Julian makes a soft, happy noise. He winds one arm around Logan’s chest, nuzzling against him. Logan smiles.

Julian — his Sleeping Beauty — hadn’t been exactly what Logan expected.

But oh, reality was so much better.


	44. Android!Julian

It’s a painful thing, loneliness.

It’s a thing Logan’s struggled with his whole life, ever since the day he watched his mother walk out without a second glance at her barely-old-enough-to-walk son. A thing he’s tried to fight with all number of pretty boys, a thing he’s experienced even harder each time he watched one of them walk away from him.

He hates the loneliness.

It makes him weak enough to do something stupid, something so foolish and pathetic he can’t believe it’s actually happened until the box arrives at his door.

Decades ago, it would have been called a _sex doll_.

Rebranding efforts had attempted _Dream Man._

Most articles and social media sites use the more technical phrase — _programable lover_.

Officially, though, it’s known as a _Companion_.

The ordering process had been a bit more intensive than Logan might’ve expected. It had taken him hours to fill out the preferences sheet, which asked all sorts of questions from _preferred eye color_ to _ideal body type_ to _freckles, yes/no_. And that had only been on the physical side — he’d had to fill out whole sheets of information about his likes and dislikes, his interests and hobbies. By the time he’d hit the payment screen, he’d invested so much time and energy in the forms he hadn’t even blinked at the price. He had his inheritance, after all.

Still, it hadn’t quite seemed real, at the time.

But now Logan’s faced with the large wooden crate, and he knows exactly what it contains.

It almost looks like a dead body, at first. His Companion is wrapped in vacuum-packed plastic, compressed so tightly it doesn’t quite look human. He unearths a sheet of instructions, reads over the rather clinical process of _activating_ his Companion. He tears off the plastic, dumps the contents into his bathtub, adds hot water, and waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

The pamphlet instructs him to leave the room during the process, that parts can be messy and uncomfortable to watch. But he finds himself pacing the hallway outside, listening to the hissing and popping sounds from his bathroom.

He’s not quite sure what to expect.

But then the bathroom door is swinging open, seemingly of its own accord, and Logan freezes as a surprisingly humanlike voice calls out.

“Excuse me? Could I get a towel, maybe?”

The Companion — “ _Julian, I think. That sounds right, doesn’t it? Yes, I think my name’s Julian.”_ — is a little shorter and thinner than Logan. He hadn’t quite prepared for that, but he manages to find clothes that fit well enough. He watches as Julian pulls on a pair of dark gray sweatpants, rolls up the sleeves of Logan’s favorite blue shirt to free his hands.

He understands the painstaking detail of the online forms, now.

Logan’s not sure he could’ve created a man more perfectly suited to his tastes.

Julian is _stunning,_ beautiful to the point where Logan can easily forget he’s not actually human. His skin is evenly tanned, soft and supple to the touch. His bright eyes match the dark curls falling over his forehead. His lips are full and pink, curved ever so slightly upwards in a permanent smile. There are dimples in his cheeks, a pleasant smattering of faint freckles across his nose.

“Am I acceptable?” Julian asks, watching Logan take him in, “There’s a thirty-day return policy, if I don’t meet your specifications.”

“No,” Logan shakes his head, oddly embarrassed at having been caught staring so intently, “I was just…observing.”

“Did you want to see the rest, too?” Julian’s hands move to the hem of his shirt, “I believe they got the body right. You marked _athletic_ , right? That you typically preferred your men on the thinner side, but with a little extra in the — ”

“Yes,” Logan interrupts quickly, “I know what I wrote. It’s — you’re perfectly acceptable.”

Julian looks pleased, “And you selected the _boyfriend_ option, as well? You wanted to skip the _courting_ phase and move right into _established relationship_?”

Logan shifts uncomfortably, clears his throat a little. He hadn’t expected to have to actually _discuss_ this with his Companion.

“I…yes.”

Julian smiles softly, takes a small step forward and slides one hand up Logan’s arm. It’s oddly warm, the way any human might be.

“I understand this is strange, for you. But there are some logistics we need to discuss. We could sit, if that would make things easier?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Logan finds himself following his Companion — his…boyfriend? — to the living room, lets the himself be pulled onto the couch. Julian curls up beside him, his leg brushing against Logan’s. He rests one soft hand on Logan’s shoulder, still smiling.

“Your payment information said John,” he says, his fingers toying with the collar of Logan’s shirt, “But I believe you prefer Logan, is that right?”

“…yes. How did you…?”

“I suppose you could say I do my research. You’re a musician?”

“I am. Piano.”

“You sing, too.”

“Yes.”

Julian smiles beatifically, “I sing, too. Maybe we could sing together sometime.”

It’s easier, like this. Something about them sitting close like this, Julian’s hand on him, it makes things easier. Like Logan can forget that he _paid_ for this, that Julian’s been designed especially for him. When Julian throws his head back and laughs at one of Logan’s jokes, it almost feels like this is a real relationship.

Julian leans in, after a few hours of talking. His smile changes, his eyes darken.

“So I have a question,” he says, shifting a little closer, “Should I sleep in your guest room tonight, or have we been dating long enough to…have a little fun?”

Logan doesn’t hesitate. Julian seems to be perfectly willing, smiles and laughs as Logan pulls him upstairs. In bed, he’s beautifully pliant, his mouth falling open and his back arching as Logan touches him. He feels real, sounds real, _tastes_ real.

After, Julian stretches out on the bed beside him, his dark eyes alert.

“Do you…do you sleep?” Logan asks, a little awkwardly, “I mean, do you need to sleep?”

“To recharge, yes,” Julian answers matter-of-factly, “I don’t get tired, exactly, but I do sleep. Should I sleep now?”

It’s a little jarring, to be asked permission to _sleep_.

“If you’d like,” Logan tells him, “You don’t have to ask my permission to do things you want.”

“Okay,” Julian says, smiling, “I’ll sleep now.”

He shuts his eyes and stills. Logan stares, for a few minutes. He’s unnervingly still, in sleep. Other than that, though, his similarity to any other human is uncanny. Logan searches for flaws, for seams in the skin or sign of the programming underneath. But there’s nothing. Just smooth expanses of evenly tanned skin, tendrils of soft hair. Logan lays down beside him, and sleeps.

It should be strange, how quickly he grows accustomed to having Julian around.

It’s like the man has lived with him for _years_. He knows Logan’s favorite foods and music, seems to have the innate ability of knowing just how and when Logan takes his coffee, of when he craves company and when he’d prefer to be left alone.

They’re about three weeks into their relationship when Logan wakes up to the sound of rainfall. Julian isn’t beside him as usual, and he sits up, glancing around the room.

“Julian?” He calls, into the darkness, “Jules?”

He doesn’t get a response. It worries him, for a moment. The Companions are top-of-the-line, now, but he remembers the weird quirks and flaws of the original design, decades ago. How a handful had suddenly dropped all programming, how one or two had turned on their owners.

Logan’s quiet, as he slips downstairs. Julian hadn’t turned any lights on, as far as he can tell, but the man’s eyesight is more than perfect.

He finds him in the living room, curled up on an armchair by the large window, staring outside.

“I’m sorry,” Julian turns, when Logan steps into the room, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Logan tells him, moving closer, “The rain did.”

“Me too. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Julian turns back to the window, his eyes wide as he looks out at the falling rain. His expression is almost childlike, and Logan can’t help but smile. He perches on the arm of Julian’s chair, brings one hand to his hair. Julian leans into the touch.

“Would you like to go outside?” Logan asks, and Julian looks a little sad.

“I can’t,” he says, “It’s dangerous for me.”

Logan isn’t quite sure what to say to that. They just sit like that, for some time, Julian leaning against Logan’s chest. Logan’s never quite thought of the rain as _beautiful_ , before, but he’s intrigued by how utterly focused Julian is on it. He stares through the window until the weather begins to lessen, then shakes his head as if coming out of a deep trance.

“Would you like some breakfast?” He asks, looking up at Logan, “I think I finally learned how to make pancakes.”

Logan’s a little nervous, the first time he and Julian venture outside of the house together. Julian assures him it’s fine, that nobody will know the difference.

“I’m custom-designed,” he says soothingly, kissing Logan’s cheek, “It’s not like the early ones, when all the women looked like Barbie and the men like Ken. I promise, nobody will be able to tell.”

He’s right.

Logan slips an arm around Julian’s waist as they walk together, glaring at passerby as if daring for one of them to say something. A few do a double-take as they pass, but none of the looks seem malicious.

“They think we’re pretty,” Julian says, when he feels Logan stiffen beside him, “We are, aren’t we?”

“That’s all you, gorgeous.”

“A little bit of you too, I think.”

“Oh, so we’ve learned to be snarky too, now.”

Julian grins, “I think you like it.”

“I think I do, too.”

It’s just like any other relationship, really. Julian offers to find his own job, but Logan has enough money to care for them both. Still, Julian finds things to occupy his time. He does most of their grocery shopping while Logan works, comes home with small bunches of bright flowers that he sets in a vase on top of Logan’s piano. He’s an awful cook, which Logan finds endlessly amusing, but he’s always trying out some new recipe, and some of them are even good.

Despite how happy he is, Logan’s nervous to tell Derek what he’s done. He’s managed to avoid the topic over text message, had done his best to call only when Julian was out of the house. But then Derek tells him he’s coming into town, and Logan knows he can’t hide it anymore.

Derek knocks on his door on a Sunday. Julian makes a move to the door, but Logan’s faster.

“Hey buddy!” Derek’s grin is bright, his hug long and lingering. Logan doesn’t miss the way Julian frowns, “Long time no see, huh? Work has been crazy.”

“Yeah, same,” Logan draws back, glances over at Julian, “Um, this is…this is my boyfriend. Julian.”

Derek turns, looking over at the man, “Shit, dude, you know you’re _way_ out of Lo’s league, right?”

Logan feels like he should be offended, but Julian looks so _pleased_ by that. He drifts closer to Logan, hugging his waist, and beams up at the man.

“I don’t know, I think he’s pretty great.”

Derek gags.

The thing is, Derek doesn’t seem to question the relationship. At all. He jokes around with Julian, seems to like him well enough. But Logan’s never been the best at keeping secrets, not from his best friend. He only lasts until dessert.

“So,” Derek asks, digging into the lemon meringue pie Julian had picked up at the store, “How did the two of you meet?”

“It’s a funny story, actually,” Julian leans forward, “See, I was in line at this coffee shop—”

“I ordered him,” Logan says abruptly, cutting off Julian’s rehearsed story, “I designed him.”

Derek blinks. He sets down his fork, turns to look critically at Julian across the table. It’s quiet, for a minute, as Derek’s eyes rove over the man’s face. He turns to Logan, blinks again.

“Are you telling me,” he says slowly, carefully, “That your _boyfriend_ here isn’t real?”

“I’m real,” Julian scowls, “I may not be what you expected, but I’m _real_.”

Derek ignores him, still talking at Logan, “You ordered a _sexbot_.”

“That term is offensive,” Julian says.

“You…” Derek closes his eyes, brings his hands to his temples, “Look, Logan. I know you’ve hard a hard few years, relationship-wise.”

“Don’t do this, D.”

“But you have a lot to offer, alright? You’re attractive, you’re smart, you’re talented. Just because you had a few unfortunate relationships doesn’t mean you can’t have a good one.”

“I have one now.”

“With a _robot_.”

Julian clears his throat, “Android, technically.”

“Fuck off.”

Logan’s fists clench, “Don’t talk to him like that, he has feelings.”

“He does not, he’s a _robot_.”

“Android,” Julian repeats, “And I do so have feelings. Irritation, currently.”

“You’re not _real,”_ Derek snarls, before turning to Logan, “Honestly, man. Let me introduce you to some guys, okay? You deserve to be happy. You deserve to find an actual human being who loves you.”

“I love him,” Julian says firmly, and Derek slams his hands on the table.

“Because you’ve been _programmed_ to,” he exclaims, “Don’t you get it? You’re just some…machine, that’s been programmed to do whatever the hell he wants you to. You’re a _thing_. Logan deserves more than that.”

Julian’s shaking, beside him. Logan’s never seen him quite like this, never seen Julian look _angry_ before. But he doesn’t like it, not one bit.

He stands up, pressing his fists against the table, levels Derek with a stern look.

“I’m _happy_ ,” he stresses, “It may not be your idea of a relationship, but I’m _happy_. And if you can’t support that, I need you to leave.”

Derek looks disappointed in him. He sighs, pushing himself up from his own seat, “I hope you grow out of this…whatever this is. And soon.”

The house is quiet, after the final slam of the front door. Julian’s still sitting at the table, his own pie untouched. Logan’s still seething, his very _skin_ vibrating with rage. He pushes away from the table.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he grits out, hoping a flood of cold water might calm him down a little. It does, marginally, and Logan just leans against the tile for a while. He’d known Derek wouldn’t quite take the news happily, of course — Companions are still a little taboo, still associated with lonely old men and middle-aged perverts. But if he’d just taken the time to get to know Julian, if he’d seen how _real_ he actually is…

Logan sighs, as he shuts off the water. He should’ve stuck to the story they’ve been telling acquaintances, he should’ve just let Julian keep up the coffee shop lie.

When he finally makes his way downstairs, the table’s been cleared of their dinner. The dishes are set in a drying rack beside the sink, the pie covered and put away. Julian’s sitting in his chair, barely looks up when Logan enters.

“I can’t cry,” he says, softly, “I’d never tried before, so I didn’t know…I’ve never wanted to. But I can’t cry.”

Logan sits beside him, reaching for one of his hands, “Why did you want to cry, Julian?”

“I was sad,” Julian says, looking almost confused, “He said I wasn’t real.”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“I’m real, aren’t I?” Julian looks up, “I know I’m not _human_ , not like you. But I’m real, right? I’m something?”

He looks so sad, so _lost_ , and Logan pulls him close, “You’re everything.”

Things don’t quite go back to to the way they were, after that. Julian’s a little quieter, seems to be lost in thought more often than not. Logan, for his part, can’t stop thinking about what Derek’s said.

Julian’s been _programmed_ to love him.

It’s not real, no matter how perfect it feels. No matter how earnestly Julian kisses him, how happily he falls into bed, none of this is _real_.

Julian seems to notice that’s something’s changed. He looks at Logan differently, his eyes searching, but says nothing. They still fall into bed together, but it’s rare that Logan reaches for him.

“…have I done something wrong?” Julian asks one day, as Logan sips at his morning coffee, “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“It feels like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

Julian watches him, “You don’t touch me anymore. You haven’t kissed me in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy. I have work to do, Julian. Deadlines.”

“You had deadlines before.”

“I’m not mad at you, Jules.”

“…is it because of your friend? Because of what he said?”

Logan sighs. He sets his mug down, finally lets himself look at Julian.

“Look,” he says, “You’re great, okay? I love having you here. But…maybe he was right. I should be looking for something real. Something with an actual person.”

Julian’s face falls, “You…you don’t want me anymore?”

“I’ll still take care of you, of course. You can stay here as long as you need. But I don’t think I should pretend that you’re my boyfriend, anymore.”

“You were pretending?”

“I’m sorry if I…I’m not sure what happens to you, in cases like this. But I’ll figure something out, okay?”

He stands, scoops up his mug with one hand and leaves the room.

Julian makes himself scarce, after that. He’s still around, somewhere. Logan’s coffee is still ready for him each morning. The flowers on his piano get changed out. But he doesn’t come to bed. He doesn’t come to dinner. Logan tries to research what he’s supposed to do with a Companion he no longer wants, but he can’t get a clear answer on what _returning_ him would mean for Julian.

He almost doesn’t hear the front door open and close, midway through a thunderstorm. He looks up from his piano, frowning.

“Julian?” He calls, “Is that you?”

He doesn’t get an answer. He’s grown to expect it, these last few days. It’s clear Julian’s trying to stay out of his way, trying to give Logan the space he’d asked for.

But for some reason, Logan feels uneasy, today. He steps into the foyer, hoping to find Julian coming in from a shopping trip. But it’s empty, the floor dry. There’d be muddy footprints, if Julian had just come in.

 _It’s dangerous, for me_ , Julian had said, the first time he’d seen rain, _It’s dangerous, for me._

Logan opens the door, steps out onto the porch.

“Julian?” He calls again, shouting over the pounding rain, “Julian, you’re not out there, are you?”

He doesn’t see Julian, at first. He almost moves back inside, until he catches a glimpse of a figure laying flat across the lawn.

“Julian!”

The man is soaked, when Logan reaches him. His eyes are focused upward, a small smile across his lips as he stares at the sky. He doesn’t move, at first, and Logan’s sure he’s too late. But then his lips part.

“Logan, look,” he says, “The rain. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Julian, come on,” Logan tugs at him, urgently, “We have to get you inside. It’s not safe for you to be out here, remember?”

He pulls Julian bridal-style into his arms, staggering to his feet.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Julian repeats, his eyes still fixed skyward, “Is—isn’t it b-b-beautiful?”

Logan practically sprints inside. He sets Julian in the living room, lights a fire in his fireplace. He pulls off Julian’s soaked clothes, pats him dry with the fluffiest towel he can find and wraps him in blankets. Julian’s eyes are half-shut, his lips barely moving as he speaks.

“B-beautiful,” he says, “Is-is-isn’t it b-b-b-b-b-b-beautiful?”

Logan doesn’t know what to do.

He’s gotten Julian as dry as possible. Has him warm and wrapped in blankets. Julian had quieted, after a few minutes, gone still and shut his eyes as if in sleep.

He calls Derek, in a panic. Tells him what’s happened, how he’s tried to fix it.

“I love him,” he says, “I know you don’t understand it, but I love him. And I think I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Derek says patiently, “You’re not the one who put him outside. Let me do some research, okay? I’ll call you back in a few.”

Three days later, Julian’s eyes open again. He blinks rapidly a few times, looks around the room curiously. Logan doesn’t notice, at first, not until Julian sits up. He drops his phone, not even bothering with a _goodbye_ for Derek, rushes over to sit by Julian’s side.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Julian frowns, “What did you do?”

Logan swallows, “The water damage. I had to re-start you. Derek figured out how. We turned you off, for a day. It took a little longer than expected for you to re-boot yourself.”

“Water damage?”

“…yeah. You went out in the rain. Do you remember?”

Julian blinks again, “I…I did. I do.”

“Do you remember _why_?”

“You didn’t want me anymore.”

“Julian…”

“You were going to get rid of me. You can’t just — I’m _custom_ , they wouldn’t just re-program me and send me to someone else. I’d be destroyed. I didn’t want that.”

“So your solution was to destroy yourself?”

Julian looks away, “I just wanted to feel the rain.”

“Julian…”

“I didn’t want you to not want me.”

“Julian…”

“I _love_ you,” Julian finally looks up, “I love you, and you don’t believe me.”

“Because it’s not real,” Logan says softly, even as he rests a hand against Julian’s cheek, “You were _made_ to. It’s not real.”

“Well it feels real to me.”

“Julian…”

“Why do _you_ get to decide?” Julian asks angrily, pulling away from Logan’s touch, “How come _you’re_ the one that gets to choose whether or not what I feel is _real_?”

“I didn’t mean to…I just don’t want you to feel forced to do things for me.”

“I _want_ to do things for you. I _like_ doing things for you.”

“Because a computer is telling you to.”

“Because I _love_ you, you insufferable asshole! You may not believe it, but I _know_ that I do. I know that I feel different when I’m around you. I know that…that when you said you didn’t want me anymore, I felt like something inside me was breaking.”

Logan falters, “Julian…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t think I _could_ be hurt, you mean.”

“I just meant—”

Julian interrupts him, “Do I make you happy?”

“…yes.”

“Do you like having me around?”

“Yes.”

“Do you…” Julian swallows, “Do you love me?”

“God, yes.”

“Then what does anything else matter?”

It’s so simple. Such an easy solution to everything, to all of the confusion and doubt Logan’s been struggling through. He loves him. What does anything else matter?

“You’re right.”

“…I am?”

“You are,” Logan moves close, takes one of Julian’s hands and smiles, “I love you. I want to be with you. You make me happy. Fuck what anyone else thinks.”

Julian beams, “You mean it?”

“I mean it.”

Julian may not _technically_ be real. It’s true, that not everyone would understand the relationship they have. But when Logan touches him, kisses him, makes love to him, it feels like he’s the only real thing in the entire world.

Nothing else really matters.


	45. Pirates

Logan can’t tamp down the bubble of satisfaction in his chest. He’s been chasing the _Fallen Star_ for years, always seeming to be just behind Captain Larson’s unpredictable movements. The other ship had been smaller than Logan’s own _Stuart_ , but that only made it lighter, faster. Captain Larson and his crew have been a nuisance since they’d sailed into this side of the sea, and Logan’s sick of losing out on treasure to the less experienced Captain.

But now, after all these years, he’s won. They’d finally caught up with the _Fallen Star_ , cornered them on a reef just south of the Devil’s Cape.

Their cannons proved no contest against the _Stuart_.

Logan’s crew had boarded their ship, plundered it for all the treasure that was rightfully theirs. There had been casualties on both sides, but as Logan examines his crew, he’s pleased to note that most of them remain standing. The crew of the _Fallen Star_ , however, hasn’t fared quite so well. There’s only a handful or so, lined in front of him, and Logan’s a little surprised to note more than one woman amongst the crew.

“Which one of you is Captain Larson?”

The crew remains silent. Logan watches their expressions, waits for just one person to give themselves away, to glance around. But none do. They all remain on their knees, their hands bound, their eyes fixed on the deck in front of them.

“Let’s try this again,” Logan paces in front of them, his leather boots tapping against the wood, “Which one of you is Captain Larson?”

Silence.

Logan pulls his sword from its sheath, points it at the nearest crew member. The man doesn’t budge.

“Start talking,” he says, “Or I start slitting throats.”

It’s one of the women, who speaks, “Captain Larson isn’t here.”

“Is that right?”

She looks up at him, unafraid, “He’s not. Your men killed him.”

Logan looks towards his first mate, “Is this true? I specifically ordered that Captain Larson be left alive.”

Derek shifts uncomfortably, “The fight was messy, Captain. The men were looking out for him, but we didn’t…I didn’t see anyone who looked like the leader.”

Well, then. Logan would have _preferred_ to meet Captain Larson himself. But no matter.

“Which one of you is second in command, then?”

“That would be me,” says a man to Logan’s left. He’s sporting a rather impressive wound across one side of his face, but he seems unbothered by the blood. He’s large, perhaps taller than Logan himself. Logan makes a mental note to have him watched extra closely.

“What’s your name?”

“Sawyer. Clark Sawyer.”

“Sawyer,” Logan peers down at him, “There was an Admiral named Sawyer, not long ago.”

“My father.”

“Oh?” Logan raises an eyebrow, “I’m sure he’s disappointed, that his son chose the life of a pirate.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the man says, expressionless, “He’s dead.”

Logan hums, taking a step back. He nods at Derek, who moves forward.

“Well, Sawyer, you and your men will be very comfortable in our brig, I’m sure. Until we figure out what to do with you,” a few more members of his crew step towards the prisoners, “Keep the women separate, would you?”

One of the _Fallen Star_ ’s men looks up, sharply, “We’d rather keep the women with us, thank you.”

“It’s fine, Cameron,” says the woman who had spoken first, “We can take care of ourselves.”

They’re yanked to their feet rather unceremoniously, and Logan’s moving away when he spots him.

“Wait!”

All movement ceases. The crew of the _Star_ watches him warily, as he steps down the line to the man at the very end. He’s not sure how he hadn’t noticed him, before. He looks decidedly un-piratelike, his skin and hair far too clean for a life at sea. His clothes are a little nicer than the rest, his dark pants untorn, his white shirt pristine. It’s open halfway down his chest, showing off a rather impressive jewel hanging from a chain of braided leather.

Logan points his sword deliberately, presses the tip of the blade just under the man’s chin, moving until the man’s forced to look up at him.

More than a few of his men let out a gasp.

The man is _beautiful._ His face seems sculpted straight from legends, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. His lips are pink and full, his eyes flecked with gold.

“And who,” Logan says, his voice a little lower, “Are _you_?”

The man says nothing. His eyes stay fixed on Logan’s face, and his chest rises and falls a little unsteadily.

He’s terrified.

“They say Captain Larson has a weakness for a pretty face,” Logan says, his sword still pressed against the man’s chin, “I can certainly understand why _you_ piqued his interest.”

The man says nothing. Logan pulls his blade away, gesturing for the man to stand. He does, gracefully, rising to his feet without breaking eye contact. Logan’s eyes roam down his body. He’s an inch or so shorter than Logan, his shoulders narrower. He’s thin, and Logan wonders if Captain Larson bothers to keep his crew well-fed.

“You don’t look suited to a life in the brig, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, and the man shakes his head a little, “You can stay in my quarters. Derek, take the rest of them.”

Derek eyes the pretty man in front of Logan, “Captain, are you sure…?”

“Look at him. This one’s never held a weapon in his life.”

He slips his longsword back into it’s sheath, lays one hand on the man’s shoulder, “What’s your name?”

“Julian,” the man says, his voice almost a whisper, “Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, of course not. In fact, how about we get you some food, hm? Would you like that?”

Julian smiles at him, softly, his eyes shining with gratitude, “Yes. Yes, thank you.”

Despite living most of his life at sea on a ship full of attractive men, Logan rarely has company in his rooms. They’re tidy enough, and Julian runs his fingers over the thick tapestries hung on the walls.

“From my travels,” Logan tells him, “That one’s from Brussels. The one beside it from the Far East.”

“They’re beautiful,” Julian says. He drops his hand, turns in a slow circle across the room. His eyes linger on the bed, draped with thick red and gold bedcovers.

“Did Captain Larson treat you well?” Logan asks, watching the other man, “I assume the sapphire you’re wearing was a gift from him?”

Julian reaches for the necklace, his fingers dancing across the jewel, “I don’t want to talk about Captain Larson.”

“Then what _do_ you want to talk about?”

“You,” Julian says, turning to face him, “What kind of Captain are _you_?”

He’s standing close. Logan barely has to move, to lay a hand on his face, “Shall I show you?”

He can tell he’d been right about Julian’s position on Captain Larson’s crew. Julian’s perfectly amenable, falling into Logan’s bed like he’d been born for it. His legs wind around Logan’s waist, his back arches, and his mouth falls open as he takes everything Logan gives.

“I don’t like it,” Derek says, when Logan emerges from his rooms the next morning, “He should be locked up with the rest of the crew. We don’t know where his loyalties lie.”

“With whoever’s keeping him fed and clothed and wrapped in jewels,” Logan says patiently, as he examines the treasure they’d looted from the _Fallen Star,_ “I’m the most feared pirate on the seven seas, I can handle one whore.”

“Are you sure that’s what he is?”

Logan smirks, “He’s naked in my bed right now. I’d say it’s a solid bet.”

He moves on, picks up a brown leather satchel from the pile of treasure.

“From the Captain’s quarters,” Derek tells him, “Bailey said it was pretty locked-up. We thought you’d want to look at it first.”

The bag is secured with heavy leather straps, and Logan frowns at the contents when he’s finally gotten it open. He’d expected more jewels, gold perhaps. But the contents are fairly average: A bottle of deep red liquid, a bundle of the softest silk Logan’s ever seen, a solid gold compass, and a thick roll of parchment.

“Is that a painting?”

“A map, I think,” Logan says, unrolling it. It looks old, worn, and he and Derek lean over it to examine it. Logan recognizes the landmass, can calculate exactly where they are on the image.

“What does it mark, do you think?” Derek asks, pointing at the prominent red X marked in one corner, “Treasure?”

“It must be, if Captain Larson kept it locked in his rooms.”

“What kind of treasure?”

“I’m not sure. But I bet someone in the crew knows.”

They try Clark, first. As Captain Larson’s first mate, he’s the most likely to know the Captain’s plans.

“I don’t know,” Clark shrugs, when they show him the map, “I can’t say I’ve ever seen it before. The Captain planned the routes himself, I just listened to him.”

“So he didn’t tell you anything? You have no idea what his plan was?”

“Nope. Cap’n kept his secrets.”

“Did he say anything about a treasure, about something he was going after?”

“There was something…” Clark frowns, “Something he always said he was seeking.”

“Well?”

“Oh, I remember,” Clark snaps his fingers, “Eternal fame and fortune.”

Logan blinks, turns to Derek, “This was a waste of time.”

They try a few other members of Captain Larson’s crew. The older man, Cameron. One of the women, Marcie, has kind eyes and a soft smile that makes Logan think she’ll be easy enough to get information out of. But she reveals even less than the other two.

“This is _pointless_ ,” Logan growls, as Derek tosses yet another prisoner back into their cell, “None of them know anything.”

“Captain?”

Logan turns. He must be visibly annoyed by their lack of information, because Bailey takes a tentative step back.

“What is it?”

“It’s your, uh…Julian? Sebastian found him leaving your rooms, we weren’t sure if he was allowed…”

“He’s probably just hungry,” Logan shrugs it off, “He doesn’t have to stay confined to my quarters, I’m not a monster.”

Derek looks speculative, “No, but do you think Captain Larson was?”

“What do you mean?”

“If he was kept in the Captain’s quarters, maybe he would’ve seen something. Heard something. Even if he didn’t understand it.”

Julian looks confused, when Sebastian delivers him to Logan. He’s still dressed in his clothes from yesterday, and Logan makes a mental note to have his men search through their stores for clothing in his size — it wouldn’t do for a man who looks like _that_ to spend weeks in the same outfit. His hair is a little mussed, from last night, and Logan’s skin tingles a little at the memory. Sebastian’s eyeing him with fierce intensity. Logan’s going to have to make it very clear to his crew that Julian’s _his_ prize, not to be touched.

“Julian, come here,” Logan holds out a hand, pulling the man closer, “Do you know what this is?”

Julian frowns down at the table, his eyes scanning the map laid out in front of him, “It’s…a map?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “Obviously.”

“Do you know what it leads to?” Logan asks, ignoring Derek’s annoyance.

Julian looks up, frowning, “Should I?”

“We found it in Captain Larson’s quarters. We thought maybe you’d heard something.”

“I…he did say…”

Both Logan and Derek lean forward, hopeful, but Julian quiets.

“What did he say?”

Julian shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself, “I shouldn’t…I wasn’t supposed to hear, I don’t…”

“Hey,” Logan squeezes the man’s shoulder, “Captain Larson is dead. He can’t hurt you. Nobody will know what you tell us.”

“Are you _sure_?” Julian tilts his head upward, looking up at Logan with wide, frightened eyes, “Are you really sure he’s gone?”

“I am,” Logan smiles, reassuring, “My men pulled every living member of his crew of the _Star_. None of them are Captain Larson.”

Julian nods, still looking a little shaky, “He said…this sounds insane…”

“What did he say?”

Julian looks around, leans closer to Logan and lowers his voice, “He said he knew how to find the treasure of the _Dalton._ ”

Derek inhales sharply, “That can’t be true. The _Dalton_ disappeared decades ago, it must be at the bottom of the ocean right now.”

“He said it’s _not_ ,” Julian’s eyes are a bit wild, now, “He said he had proof that the crew hid their gold before they vanished. That he knew where to find it, that he was going to get his hands on unimaginable treasures.”

“No,” Logan shakes his head, “That’s impossible. People have been searching for the _Dalton_ across the seas. If it still exists, it would’ve been found.”

Julian looks down, his hand once again going to the jewel around his neck. His fingers shake, but he slips the chain from around his neck, holding it out. It spins in the air, and Logan’s heart stops.

The crest of the _Dalton_ is stamped into the gold backing of the jewel. Logan takes it, staring down at the familiar symbol.

“Why would Captain Larson give this to you?”

“To keep it safe.”

“Derek, look at this,” Logan hands it over, watches as Derek runs his finger over the stamped crest, “It’s real.”

“He sounded sure,” Julian says, “That’s where we were sailing, I think. To find the treasure.”

Logan turns to the map. His eyes move quickly, taking in the route from where they’d come upon the _Star_ to where the marked treasure is.

“You wouldn’t have made it,” he says, “You would have had to sail through the Devil’s Triangle. The waves there…the _Star_ was too small, it would’ve broken apart.”

Julian’s eyes widen, “We would have sunk?”

“Undoubtedly,” Logan’s fingers trail over the route, “Larson must’ve known…his desperation for the treasure must have driven him mad, if he’d set this course.”

“Could we make it?” Derek asks, handing the jewel back to Logan, “We’re larger than the _Star_. Sturdier. We’ve survived storms before.”

Logan stares at the map, “…I believe we can.”

The crew thinks he’s insane, of course.

“We’re just going to believe that Captain Larson happened upon a map to the most sought-after treasure in the world?”

“Just because we _might_ be able to survive the trip doesn’t mean we _should_.”

“But the _treasure_ — do you know what the _Dalton_ was carrying?”

“Do _you_?”

“Silence!” Logan bellows, and the whole crew shuts up, “I’m your Captain. I make the decisions. And I’ve decided that we’re going after it. If we find this…you’ll all be set for life.”

There are a few more hushed murmurs, but Logan ignores them. He orders Derek to set a course, leaves the crew to their work.

He’s halfway to his quarters when he comes upon Julian stepping up from the lower deck. He looks a little startled, to be discovered.

“You weren’t in the brig, were you?” Logan raises an eyebrow, “It’s a disgusting place, you don’t belong there.”

“I just wanted to see,” Julian explains, fidgeting, “I wasn’t sure who all survived…some of them were kind to me.”

“Captain Larson let you interact with the crew?”

Julian nods.

“Did he…did he _share_ you?”

The thought makes Logan a little nauseous. He knows it’s not uncommon. That life at sea quickly gets lonely, that many crews pick up pretty young men or women to alleviate some of that loneliness. He knows it’s more than likely, that Julian had served not just Captain Larson, but members of the crew as well. Still, the thought disgusts him a bit — people shouldn’t be treated like that, like something to be passed around. The thought of one of his men taking Julian to bed makes him ill.

“Is…is that what you want?” Julian asks, “Is that how I’m to earn my keep?”

“No,” Logan says firmly, placing one hand on the back of Julian’s neck and leading him back to the Captain’s quarters, “You’ve been more than helpful, letting us know what the map led to. If any of them touches you, I want you to let me know immediately, are we clear?”

Julian looks relieved, “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Logan slips the stamped jewel from his pocket, gestures at Julian until he turns for Logan to secure it around his neck, “You deserve this. Nobody could make it look as beautiful as you do.”

Julian smiles softly, when he turns back around. He leans close, and Logan can’t resist him.

“You’re spending a lot of time with him,” Derek complains, a few days into their journey, “Here I am, steering _your ship_ to the treasure of a lifetime, and you’re locked up with some pretty young thing.”

“Oh, are you jealous?” Logan smirks as he takes over the wheel, “No worries, once we’re rich I’m sure we can find a nice woman to keep you company.”

Derek grumbles, but doesn’t walk away, “The men _have_ been asking, you know. What you mean to do with the prisoners. We’ve passed every available port before the Triangle, there’s nowhere to drop them off.”

“Can we afford to feed them?”

“For now.”

“We’ll leave them when we find the treasure. I’m not sure if the land around it is inhabited, but I’m sure they’ll manage.”

“And your pet?”

Logan looks at him sharply, “What about him?”

“Are we keeping him?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“He’s not useful,” Derek tells him, “Not beyond…what happens when you grow tired of him?”

“Then we’ll drop him off at the nearest port.”

Derek sighs, “You _will_ grow tired of him, won’t you?”

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“He is…” Logan sighs, making a minor adjustment to their course, “I’ve never seen someone so beautiful.”

Derek says nothing, but Logan’s aware of his eyes on him. He ignores it. He understands Derek’s doubts, knows he’s behaving a little differently than his men expect. But it’s so nice, having someone to warm his bed at night.

Besides, Julian’s harmless.

When Logan awakes to the sound of thunder, the violent rocking of the ship, Julian’s already up. He’s sitting fully upright, the quilts clenched in his hands.

“It’s just rough water,” Logan promises, kissing the man’s shoulder, “My ship’s handled worse.”

“Can I go up?” Julian asks, “I’ll feel safer, if I can go up.”

“It’s raining. It’ll be miserable up there.”

“Please?”

Logan sighs. He’ll have to leave his bed, anyway — he doesn’t like the idea of leaving Derek alone at the helm as they navigate through the roughest parts of the sea. He’ll just keep an eye on Julian, make sure he doesn’t do something stupid and fall overboard.

Once he’s at the wheel, though, he can’t focus on anything else. He’s steered his ship through many a storm before, but the Devil’s Triangle is unlike anything he’s encountered before. He barks orders at his men, struggles to keep their course steady. By the time they break through to sunny skies, his body aches. He drops his arms to his side, staggering backwards a few steps.

“We did it,” Derek says, a little awestruck, “You did it, Captain.”

“The hard part, at least,” Logan says, breathless, “Maintain course. We should make landfall by morning.”

He stumbles off, leaving Derek in charge once more. His rooms are empty, but he doesn’t have the energy to wonder where Julian’s wandered off to. He aches, everywhere, and his bed is so warm and inviting.

He wakes up to a sword pressed against his throat.

Logan takes pride in his fighting skills. He knows there are very few men that could take him down. But he’s been caught unawares, and Clark Sawyer wastes no time in heaving him out of his bed, binding his wrists, and pushing him down the hallway.

He’s barely even awake, but he notices the eerie silence of the ship. His men are loud, boisterous, and it doesn’t make sense that they’re all so silent.

Until he’s pushed into a cell in the brig, and greeted with their angry faces.

“They escaped,” Derek spits, “They waited until we were through the storm, until after you disappeared to your rooms. Then they…all of them, at the same time. We were exhausted, already. They overpowered us.”

“How?” Logan turns to the iron bars, yanks on them as hard as they can. They don’t budge, of course, “How the _hell_ did they escape? You searched them, didn’t you? For knives, weapons, anything they could’ve used to pick the locks?”

“They used the key.”

“How did they get the key? I’m the only one who — ”

Derek gives him a pointed look.

“…Julian.”

“You didn’t watch him, did you? You let him into your rooms, let him go through your things. Nobody watched him.”

“I didn’t think — he was just — ”

“A whore?”

Logan turns. Julian’s leaning against the entryway, his arms crossed over his chest. One eyebrow is raised, his lips quirked upwards in amusement.

“Julian,” Logan says calmly, patiently, “Let us out of here.”

“Oh, I don’t see why I should do that.”

“We’ll give you an even share. Split the treasure with you as if you’re any other member of the crew. Will they do that?”

Julian hums, “You know, I used to despise being underestimated. I never thought it could be so useful.”

“Let us _out_ , Julian. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, just as I promised. Captain Larson’s crew — ”

Julian lets out guffaw of laughter, and Derek tugs on Logan’s sleeve from behind him.

“Logan,” he says warningly, “I’m fairly certain that _is_ Captain Larson.”

Logan pales, “No. No, he’s not. He can’t be.”

Julian steps forward, careful to stand just out of arms reach, “And why’s that, Wright? Because I’m too _pretty_?”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s quite simple, really,” Julian says, looking remarkably smug, “You said it yourself — the _Fallen Star_ wasn’t sturdy enough to navigate those waters. We knew we wouldn’t make it. We knew we’d need a bigger ship. And you were already so conveniently following us.”

“We cornered you. We had you trapped.”

“Actually, _we_ cornered _you_. Didn’t you think it strange, that my crew surrendered so easily? We didn’t want too many losses, of course.”

“You planned this? All of you?”

“And you played along beautifully.”

“But you — ” It doesn’t make sense, Logan doesn’t _understand_ , “You…you’ve spent every night in my bed.”

Julian leans close, his eyes sparkling, “And I enjoyed every second, _sweetheart_. But I’d really like to go fetch my treasure now, so if you don’t mind…”

He spins away, waving his fingers at the the locked-up crew. There’s silence, punctuated only by the tapping of Julian’s boots against the stairs. Then, Derek’s voice.

“Logan, you absolute _idiot_.”


	46. Game of Thrones

Logan knows what’s expected of him.

It had been drilled into him, dozens of times, as he prepared for his visit to Highgarden. Despite the image the Lannisters present to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, their wealth has been significantly depleted over the past few years. Logan’s forbidden from hinting at _that_ little tidbit of information, of course. His father had made it very clear - he’s meant to procure gold from the Tyrells, without giving the slightest indication as to _why_ they need it.

 _“They have plenty to part with,” John had scoffed, “Why they spend it all on feasts and flowers is beyond me._ ”

It’s no easy task, convincing one of the most powerful families to support the Lannister claim to the Iron Throne. But John had put great confidence in Logan’s ability, and Logan refuses to disappoint his family again.

He’s prepared for his journey. He’s spent weeks educating himself in the Tyrell family history, familiarized himself with every member of the family. He knows their likes and dislikes, the food and music he’s bound to encounter, the names of every flower growing in Highgarden.

In fact, Logan’s so determined to get this right that his men arrive in Highgarden an entire day early, exhausted after Logan’s punishing pace during the journey.

“We’ll make camp here,” he calls out, just on the border of the city, “They won’t be expecting us until mid-afternoon tomorrow. It would be rude to show up early.”

He can practically hear the chorus of relieved sighs amongst his men. He knows the journey had been hard on them all, knows just how tired they must all be. Derek walks up to him as he dismounts his horse, rubbing at his sore shoulders.

“I know a place,” he says, quiet enough that the other men can’t hear, “A brothel I’ve visited.”

“I’m not interested in your women, Der.”

“They don’t just have women,” Derek tells him, glancing around, “I’ve seen…and they’re discreet. Expensive, of course, but I know it’s been some time, for you.”

Derek isn’t wrong. It _has_ been a long while since Logan’s had a man in his bed. It’s difficult, for someone of his standing, to find a man suitable enough who won’t spread rumors about his proclivities. He has enough money for something like that, a full pouch of gold hanging from his belt.

“…just this once,” he says, “You swear they’re discreet?”

“On my honor,” Derek promises, and there’s not a man alive Logan trusts more than him.

“Lead the way, then.”

The brothel’s not like those in King’s Landing, not lined up amongst rows of shops and houses. Instead, it’s off in a wooded area, kept in a sprawling cottage-like structure with nobody around for miles. Still, Logan looks around as they approach, worried about being seen. He lets Derek approach the doors first, pulls his cloak up to hide his face as a well-dressed man lets them in.

“My lord,” he says, bowing low, “It is an honor to host you in my establishment.”

Logan waves him off, “None of that. I’d prefer nobody know I was here.”

“Of course, my lord. I swear to you, you shall have the utmost confidentiality here. We have many girls for you to choose from.

“Do you have anything… _else_ , for him?” Derek asks pointedly, “His tastes run a bit contrary to my own.”

“Ah, of course,” the man smiles knowingly, gesturing for Logan to follow him, “If you would, my lord.”

Derek claps Logan on the back, heading off to find his own companion for the evening. Logan follows the owner, glancing curiously at the row of closed doors as they make their way down the hallway. They finally enter a room full of low-slung furniture and sheer curtains, stocked with a half-dozen pretty men who bat their eyelashes at Logan as he enters.

“I trust that one of my boys suits your fancy,” the man says lowly, letting Logan step ahead of him.

Logan examines the selection ahead of him. The men are all beautiful in their own right, it’s true — a set of blonde twins with matching grins, a pale boy with startling blue-grey eyes, a slight boy with wild strawberry curls. Logan frowns a little, looking at them. None quite grab his fancy, as much as he hoped, but he supposes he can’t be picky.

Just as he’s opening his mouth, intending to make his decision, a heavy door off the room opens, and two brunette men step out.

“Him,” Logan says firmly, his eyes fixed on the more well-dressed of the two, “I want him.”

The man is the most beautiful thing Logan’s ever seen. His dark hair falls in soft waves over his face, perfectly framing his prominent cheekbones. His eyes, nearly the same color as his chestnut locks, sparkle in the candlelight. His lips are plump and pink, curved into a smile from the moment he steps into the room. He’s tall and lithe, his bod barely covered by the sheathe of red silk draped over his shoulders.

“Oh, my lord, I don’t—” The owner of the establishment stutters, but the man cuts him off.

“Oh I’m not sure,” he says, his eyes twinkling, “I’m _very_ expensive.”

“I have Lannister gold,” Logan says, sweeping his cloak aside to show off his money pouch, “I’m sure we can strike a deal.”

“Lannister gold, is that right?” The man eyes the pouch at Logan’s waist, “Well then. That’s an entirely different story.”

“My lord,” the owner tries once more, “I really must—”

“Nonsense,” the man interrupts again, holding out a hand to Logan, “He has _Lannister gold_.”

Logan takes the man’s hand, follows him across the room and through the same door he’d walked out of. They step into a light, airy room, furnished with a large bed. It’s strewn with silky sheets and plush pillows, dark reds and purples that give off a surprisingly regal air.

“So, my lord,” the man asks, pulling the silks of one shoulder and letting them pool to the floor, “How can I pleasure you this evening?”

“Your mouth, I think,” Logan says matter-of-factly, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down to mid-thigh a little unceremoniously. He perches on the edge of the bed, spreads his legs and waits.

The prostitute looks a little amused by Logan’s actions, even as he drops to his knees obediently.

“Of course, my lord,” he says, his voice pleasantly low, “I serve at your pleasure.”

The good thing about prostitutes, Logan muses as the man’s mouth slides over him, lies in their immediate skill, the way they so quickly decipher a man’s likes and dislikes. There’s none of the awkward fumbling and hesitation so often found with stableboys, none of the eagerness to finish quickly found in timid young lords. _This_ man takes his time, worships Logan’s cock like it’s something holy.

Logan lets out a pleased moan, tangles his fingers in the man’s hair and thrusts forward. The man doesn’t balk at all, even seems to be _smirking_ up at Logan even with his lips stretched wide.

“Wait,” Logan gasps, just after a particularly skillful swipe of the man’s tongue, “I want to…let me, please.”

The man pulls off, his lips red and shiny, “Was that a question, my lord, or an order?”

Logan ignores him, pulling the man by the hair and maneuvering them both until he’s flat on his back on the bed, his body pliant underneath Logan’s own. It’s not quite as easy, this way, but the man is so very beautiful, and it’s been a long while since Logan’s had the opportunity to admire a beautiful man.

“I’d much prefer it if you used oil,” the man says, reaching behind him for a small vial resting on a nearby table, “I’m much more fun if it’s enjoyable for me, as well.”

“Well of course,” Logan frowns a little, taking the vial from the man’s delicate fingers, “Someone as beautiful as you deserves to be taken care of.”

The man moans so beautifully, when Logan slips his fingers between his legs. He bucks against Logan’s hand, practically _begs_ for Logan’s cock.

Logan nearly embarrasses himself, when he first slides into the man’s tight hole. He has to squeeze his eyes shut, has to think of something, anything — _Derek, his father_ — to keep himself together. But then the man’s moving underneath him, winding a leg around Logan’s waist and writhing against him. It’s quick and dirty, and Logan has to bite against the man’s neck to keep himself from letting out a rather undignified moan as he orgasms.

He barely has the energy to roll off the man afterwards, breathes heavily and blinks up at the shroud-draped ceiling above.

“Well?” The man shifts onto one elbow, examining Logan with a touch of curiosity, “Was I satisfactory, my lord?”

“More than,” Logan turns to him with a happy grin, reaching up to brush his fingers over the man’s mouth, “You’re exquisite.”

“Worth the extra money?”

“Take anything you want,” Logan tosses his money pouch across the bed. Whatever the man takes, it was worth it. Logan actually feels _relaxed_ , for the first time in a long while. His sore muscles aren’t bothering him as much, and all the tension that’s been building in him over the past few weeks has melted away.

“Will you come back?” The man asks, “Once you’ve met with the Tyrells, of course?”

“I suppose I could. I’m sure you’re much more entertaining than any of them.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve heard some of them are quite fun.”

“The Tyrells?” Logan raises an eyebrow, “They’re…absurd. So fixated with clothes and jewels and pretty things.”

“ _I’m_ a pretty thing. You seem fairly fixated on me.”

“You’re much more entertaining than clothes and jewels.”

“Oh, am I?”

Logan smirks, pulling the man in for another kiss. He’s just beginning to rise again, his blood rushing downwards, until they’re very rudely interrupted by a harsh knock on the door.

The owner of the establishment steps inside, his eyes averted, and Logan could absolutely _kill_ the man.

“Apologies for the intrusion, my lord,” he says, “But it seems your father is wondering where you are.”

“My father?” Logan sits up in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Apologies, my lord,” the man repeats, “But I was addressing Ser Tyrell.”

“As I’ve said a dozen times, it’s Julian here. None of this _Ser Tyrell_ nonsense.”

The man beside Logan stretches, his back arching. He reaches for his discarded clothes, pulling them on with much more grace than Logan could manage at the moment.

“Ser…Ser Tyrell?” Logan asks, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach.

“And you’re the Lannister boy,” Julian says, grinning his way, “I presume I’ll be seeing you again, at the banquet tomorrow night?”

Logan gapes, but Julian — Julian _Tyrell_ , and may the gods have mercy on Logan — merely turns to the proprietor, “And how much do I owe you for Sebastian?”

“Eighty gold dragons, my Lo — Julian.”

Julian picks up Logan’s money pouch with two fingers, gingerly weighting it in in hand, “I believe this will be more than enough.”

He tosses the pouch across the room, turning back to Logan, “I’ll be seeing you again soon, my Lord.”

With that, he strides from the room, his silken clothes trailing behind him. Logan feels a pit of nausea deep in his belly, a cold sweat on his skin.

He is so utterly, completely fucked.


	47. Fake Santa!Logan

“Please, Logan? Please please _please_?”

“ _Pwease_ , Unca Logy?”

Logan groans. It’d be easy enough to say no to Derek — he’s done it a thousand times over the last decade — but to use Logan’s four-year-old godson against him? Well, that’s just cruel.

“Am I really your only option?” Logan asks, and Derek knows he’s gotten him to agree.

“The other parents are gonna need to watch their kids,” he explains, “So your choices are either show up and help babysit twenty pre-schoolers, or put on a suit and deal with each one for like…two minutes, tops.”

“Why can’t _you_ do it?”

“Santa doesn’t have a cast,” Derek says, tapping his newly-broken wrist, the product of trying to re-shingle his roof himself, “It’ll be a _b-i-t-c-h_ to hold them all with one arm.”

Beside them, Derek’s son frowns, trying to sound out the word his father had spelled.

“Can’t you just _hire_ someone?”

“Casey didn’t like the idea of a complete stranger holding our kids in their lap. Besides, the baby’ll be terrified. If it’s _you_ , we’ll be fine.”

“It’s just like, half an hour, right? Then I can change out of the suit and drink instead?”

“I’ll hold a bottle of scotch just for you.”

Logan sighs, “Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me, man.”

“You’re a _lifesaver_ ,” Derek says.

Below them, the four-year-old looks up triumphantly, “ _Beach!”_

The suit makes Logan want to _gag_. He knows Derek had sprung for the nicest one he could find, but it’s still cheap, _used_ polyester, and Logan’s never really liked how he looks in red. The fake beard itches something fierce, and Logan wishes he’d had enough notice to grow out his own. He stares at himself in the mirror, poking at the large fake belly. It’s an odd look for him, and Logan makes a silent vow to himself to never gain this much weight for real.

He just can’t pull it off.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Casey says, eyes going wide when Logan emerges from the guest bedroom, “You look…very convincing.”

“Great. Just what I wanted. To pull off a convincing Santa Clause cosplay.”

“It’s _sweet_ ,” Casey says, reaching over to straighten his hat, “The kids are gonna be thrilled.”

Just then, Derek walks in with their son, dressed in a teensy toddler elf costume.

“Oh my goo’ness!” He yelps, “Unca Logy, you are _Santy Claus!_ ”

“See?” Casey says, grinning, “Thrilled.”

The thing is, Logan loves his godson.

Other kids? Not so much.

A room full of preschoolers and toddlers is basically his worst nightmare. They all rush him the moment they show up, and Logan spends a good half hour acting as a jungle gym for stranger’s kids. It takes Derek and Casey way longer than promised to calm the crowd down enough to form a semi-organized line, and Logan awkwardly lets each child sit on his knee and whisper into his ear.

“I want a bike!” Says one kid, before tugging at Logan’s beard at scowling when Logan pulls away.

“I wanna go to Disneyland!” Says another, hopping up and down on Logan’s knee.

“ _Lindsey_ got a new Barbie and _I_ want a new Barbie too!” One girl tells him sternly, looking very displeased.

By the time they reach the end of the line, Logan’s exhausted. He just knows he has a large bruise forming on one thigh, has a headache from the constant loud chirping right in his ear. He turns to the last kid, tries to smile just a little bit.

“How about you, buddy? You want to tell me what you want for Christmas?”

The kid looks a little shyer than the rest. He approaches Logan slowly, elects to stand beside him instead of sitting in his lap, and gestures for Logan to lean down.

“I want daddy to find someone to love,” he whispers, and Logan freezes. The kid takes a step back, twists his hands together and looks up at Logan with big, innocent eyes, “Can you do that, Santa?”

Logan kind of wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He has no idea what to tell this kid, no _clue_ how to react to a child eagerly asking him to find him a new mommy or daddy. But he also doesn’t want to ruin this kids’ Christmas.

“Where’s your daddy, buddy?” He’s not sure what the guy’s situation is, but he’s _sure_ Casey must have some single friends. But then the kid points, and Logan nearly chokes.

He knows who Julian Larson is. They’d both been groomsmen at Derek and Casey’s wedding, and Logan had instantly been infatuated with the beautiful man he’d stood next to at the ceremony. But Julian had been seeing someone at the time, something he’d very politely let Logan know, and they hadn’t really seen each other since. He had no idea Julian had a _son._

“Tell you what, kiddo,” he says softly, “How about I talk to your dad, hm? See what kind of person he wants. I’ll do my absolute best for Christmas, okay?”

The boy beams. He leans up on his tiptoes, kissing Logan soundly on the cheek, “Thank you, mister Santa!”

He darts off, no doubt bored with the whole Santa thing, and joins the rest of the kids in gobbling up Christmas cookies. Logan rises from his chair, stretching out his back a little.

“Sorry about him,” a voice calls out, “He’s normally a little shy with strangers, I didn’t expect him to try to kiss you.”

Logan looks up, smiling a little at Julian, “It’s okay. Kids don’t really think of Santa as a stranger, I guess.”

“I guess not,” Julian moves a little closer, peering curiously at Logan, “I know you, don’t I?”

“Logan,” he says, pulling the false beard off his face, “From Derek’s wedding.”

“Oh, that’s right. You asked me out.”

“I did. You turned me down.”

Julian laughs a little, “Yeah, sorry. The guy I was dating at the time…well, we didn’t wind up working out. You might’ve been the better option.”

“But hey, you got a cute kid out of it.”

Julian turns to where the kids are playing, smiling softly, “Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.”

“Um, he kind of asked me for something weird.”

“A train set?” Julian looks back over, “Because he’s reminded me like seven times a day that he _really_ wants a train set. I swear, it’s already wrapped up in my closet.”

“No,” Logan shifts awkwardly, “He um…he said he wants you to…to find someone.”

Julian squeezes his eyes shut, “Oh my god. Oh my _god_ that’s humiliating.”

“Nah, it’s not. There’s tons of single parents out there now.”

“I can’t believe he — that’s it, I’m officially pathetic.”

It’s so dramatic that Logan can’t help but laugh, “Seriously. Not that bad.”

“My son is trying to set me up with people.”

“Maybe he just wants you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy.”

Logan shrugs, “Maybe he thinks you’re so great, you need to help make someone _else_ happy.”

Julian’s face softens, “I am pretty great.”

“Pretty hot, too. Probably would have a lot of options, if you wanted.”

“Are you asking me out again, Logan?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Logan waits a beat, watching Julian’s expression change, “I mean, a man can only take so much rejection, you know? You’re bad for my ego.”

Julian grins, “Well, couldn’t have that.”

“No, we couldn’t,” Logan says, “So I guess _you’re_ going to have to ask _me_ out this time.”

“Oh, will I?”

“For your son, you know. You don’t want to ruin the magic of Christmas.”

“I did already buy him that train set. Wouldn’t want to spoil him too much.”

“Well in that case,” Logan takes a step backward, “It was nice seeing you again, Julian. Merry Christmas.”

He turns around, hopeful enough to expect Julian to call back to him. He doesn’t, not until Logan’s halfway through the door of the guest room.

“You know,” Julian says, casually, “I could always just…return the train set.”

Logan tries not to smile _too_ big when he turns, “I don’t know, he seems like a good kid. I bet he deserves two presents.”

“Especially if one of them is also mostly for me, right?”

“Feels like solid logic to me.”

“Well, we’re going to my mom’s for Christmas, so I’ll be out out of town for the next few days. But I don’t have any New Year’s plans.”

“I have a party,” Logan offers, “Don’t have a date for it, though.”

“You do now. I’ll see you then.”

Julian shoot him a bright smile before turning away to wrangle up his kid, and Logan slips back into the guest room to change. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, snorts out a laugh.

Who would’ve guessed he’d pick up a guy while dressed as Santa Claus?


	48. Groupie!Julian

The final note echoes throughout the amphitheater. Logan sustains it until he runs out of breath, drops his microphone and dips into a bow.

Thunderous applause.

It’s still absolutely wild to him, getting this kind of reaction to his music. There’s people _crying_ in the front row, cameras flashing, teenagers screaming. He grins out at them, raises a hand in a wave as he steps off stage. He releases a breath, grabs a towel from an assistant and wipes the sweat from his face.

“Another great show, man,” Derek says, clapping him on the back, “Fucking sold out Madison Square Garden, that’s _insane_.”

“And _you_ told me I couldn’t make a living as a musician.”

“Alright, I can only apologize for that so many times. It’s not a reliable business plan, you just lucked out.”

Logan grins, raising a hand to ruffle at Derek’s hair as he scowls.

“You got fans back there,” he says, gesturing to the side, “Try not to sign autographs for too long, I’d kinda like to go out tonight before you fly to Seoul tomorrow.”

Fans.

Right.

This is always the awkward part.

Performing — singing, _music_ — that comes naturally to Logan. The one-on-one interactions, however, he still hasn’t managed to figure out. His publicist keeps encouraging him to _smile_ , to be _polite_. But no matter what, the whole thing just feels uncomfortable.

Today, though, should be pretty chill.

They’d run a contest, for this show. Tweet with #LoganWrightFan, get entered for an _intimate_ meeting with Logan. He’s expecting some twelve-year-old girl and her parents, some star-struck kid who can’t even form a sentence.

He’s pleasantly surprised.

The man in the room appears roughly his age, is running long fingers over Logan’s rehearsal piano set up in the corner. He’s tall — though Logan’s fairly certain he has an inch or two on him — and lithe, with wavy brown hair and golden tanned skin. Logan leans against the doorway, smiling a bit as the guy plays a few very familiar notes.

“ _Love Me or Leave Me,_ ” Logan says, startling the fan, “You like that one?”

The guy doesn’t look as flustered as Logan expects, to be caught playing the first notes of one of Logan’s first singles. He turns, offering Logan a smile.

“First one I ever heard,” he says, “It’s kind of sad, though.”

“But it’s the one you played.”

The man shrugs, “Didn’t say it wasn’t good.”

“People like break-up songs.”

“So it’s about something that really happened, then?” The man leans back against the piano, looking curious.

“It is.”

“I have a hard time believing someone broke _your_ heart like that.”

“Well,” Logan shrugs, “I wasn’t famous then.”

“But you still looked like that.”

Logan’s used to being hit on by fans. But somehow this feels different — the guy’s a little more smooth about it, somehow veering more towards suave than creepy. He figures it can’t hurt too much to flirt back. Just a little.

“Please,” he says, “You clearly know a thing or two about being ridiculously attractive.”

The man grins, “Maybe. I’m Julian, by the way.”

“Logan. But I guess you knew that.”

“I _did_ enter your contest over five hundred times.”

“Five…five _hundred_?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Why_?”

Julian shrugs, “I wanted to meet you. I love your music. I think you’re the hottest person I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Logan tries not to choke, “Um. Well. I’m flattered.”

“And like, not to be forward, or anything,” Julian continues, even as he physically _moves_ forward, “But they said I only won a half hour, and I want to make the most of it.”

“Right,” Logan nods, a little breathless, “So like, an autograph? Or I could play you something?”

“Do you fuck fans?”

Logan actually _does_ choke, this time. It’s not the first time a fan’s propositioned him like this, of course. But Julian’s _gorgeous_ , and they’re _alone_ , and Logan’s been so busy lately he hasn’t exactly had time to…take care of things.

“You can say no, of course,” Julian continues, one hand ghosting over the hem of Logan’s white v-neck, “But I figure this is probably the only time I’ll actually get a chance to meet you, and I had to give it a shot.”

Logan swallows, hard, “You’re not gonna like, take pictures during and post it on Twitter, are you?”

“‘course not. I’ll be too busy sucking your cock.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“So is that a yes, then?” Julian’s fingers slip under Logan’s shirt, grazing the skin of his hip, “I’ll sign an NDA, or whatever.”

Logan can’t help himself. He yanks Julian close, slips one hand into the back pocket of his sinfully tight jeans and kisses him _hard_. Julian all but melts in his hold, winding his own arms around Logan’s shoulders. He tastes like coffee and chocolate, and Logan moans into the kiss.

He doesn’t even notice Julian moving until his pants are undone, hanging halfway down his thighs. Julian sinks to his knees, opens his mouth.

Logan almost dies right there.

Julian _definitely_ knows what he’s doing. A few frantic thoughts fly through Logan’s head — _Does Julian do this a lot_? Logan knows that’s a thing, kind of, fans tracking down celebrities for sex. _Is he clean_? Logan is, he knows, and he’s pretty sure _he_ can’t catch anything like this. _Is this a terrible idea_? — but then Julian’s swirling his tongue, humming, and Logan loses all rational thought.

He tangles a hand in Julian’s hair, careful not too pull too hard. But Julian moves into his touch, wordlessly encouraging Logan to take control a little. He tugs, just slightly, moaning when Julian takes him in deeper. It’s fucking glorious, the feel of Julian’s velvet-soft mouth against him, and Logan’s not sure how long he can last.

But then Julian pulls off, one hand still idly stroking Logan’s dick, and stares up at him.

“Would you fuck me?” He asks, his voice a little hoarse, “I brought a condom.”

“God, yes,” Logan gasps, and Julian grins. He pulls a condom out of his pocket, rips it open and slides it onto Logan’s cock.

Logan yanks him back up by the hair, pushing him back against the piano. It takes both of them to get Julian’s jeans down to his ankles, but then Julian’s bending over, revealing a perfectly round ass, and Logan _wants_. He takes the small packet of lube Julian presses into his palm, squeezes the entire thing onto his dick, and grabs Julian’s hips.

The man barely flinches when Logan slides in. In fact, he lets out a pleased noise, pressing back into Logan’s hands.

“More,” he whines, “Come on, let me feel it.”

Logan’s not about to say no to that. He sets a quick pace, presses his face up against the back of Julian’s neck and pants into his skin. Julian gasps out a stream of absolutely filthy things, and Logan doesn’t even bother trying to hold back anymore.

He bites at Julian’s shoulder when he comes, hard enough he’ll definitely leave a mark. Julian doesn’t seem to mind, falling forward onto the piano as he comes too.

“Shit,” Logan gasps, “That…I don’t do this, usually.”

“Glad you made an exception for me,” Julian mumbles, his voice muffled against his forearms. Logan huffs out a laugh, slips out as gently as he can. Julian still whimpers a little, and Logan reflexively presses a kiss to the top of his spine.

“So fucking glad I won that contest,” Julian says.

“I’m pretty glad too, actually.”

He leans down, yanking his pants back around his hips. Julian’s a little slower to follow, shimmying into his own jeans and turning around to smile softly at Logan.

“So, um…have fun on the rest of your tour, I guess.”

Logan stops him, before he can walk out. He grabs Julian by the wrist, his finger’s winding around the more delicate man’s arm.

He knows this is a stupid idea. He doesn’t know this guy, has no knowledge about him other than his first name and the fact that he’s fantastic at giving head and has an ass to die for. But he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t take advantage of his fame often, but he _wants_ this.

“What are you doing the next few weeks?” He asks.

“Nothing really important. Why?”

“Come with me,” he says, “On the tour. I have the room. Great hotels, good food. Stay with me.”

Julian raises an eyebrow, “Like a groupie?”

“I mean. You did enter a Twitter contest over five hundred times just so you could shoot your shot.”

As the words leave his mouth, Logan’s just slightly worried Julian might be offended. But Julian lets out a bark of laughter, his eyes twinkling.

“You’re fucking right I did,” he says, “And it worked.”

“So then. Five star hotels? Fancy restaurants?”

“Do I get that dick again?”

Logan can feel his cheeks redden, “That would be part of the deal, yeah.”

“Well,” Julian grins, “Do I have some time to pack, or are we leaving now?”

“Tomorrow. Jet leaves at four. Teterboro.”

“I’ll pack my sluttiest underwear.”

He spins out of the room, his hair mussed and his skin flushed enough that Derek gives Logan an enthusiastic thumbs-up when he steps out of the dressing room. Logan rolls his eyes at him, brushes off his questioning and makes an excuse to head back to his hotel. He does a cursory check of Twitter, a little concerned that Julian's already tweeted about their tryst. But the only tweets in #LoganWright are about his concert. 

Logan's not entirely sure that Julian's actually going to show up for the trip. He's not quite sure  _he_ would. They're complete strangers, after all. But when he steps out to the jet with two lattes, there he is. He's sitting on a hard-shell suitcase, sunglasses resting atop his windblown hair. Logan grins when he sees him, holds up one of the coffee cups in greeting.

"For me?" Julian asks with a smile.

"It was gonna be for the pilot if you didn't show," Logan says, trying to play it cool, "So I didn't look like a loser, you know."

"Never," Julian sips at the drink, then gestures to the jet, "Shall we? I'm dying to see what a private plane looks like."

"After you."

Julian grins, leaves his bag with one of Logan's assistants and makes his way up the stairs. His jeans ride a little low on his hips, and Logan catches the slightest glimpse of black lace above the waistband.

He  _did_ wear his slutty underwear.


	49. Prison!Jogan

The new guys always cause a bit of a spectacle. It doesn’t happen as often as average prisons — Dalton Penitentiary is for the most high-risk cases, the criminals so beyond reform that the government decided to lock them up in the most secure institution in the country.

So when the tell-tale sounds of a new prisoner being escorted in interrupt the quiet Sunday morning, everyone’s interested.

The man’s not quite built the same way as the average prisoner. He’s tall, yes, but lean and lithe, without the rippling muscles so common in the cell block. He’s _pretty_ , too, with waves of oak-brown hair and unblemished tanned skin. Despite that, Logan can tell there’s some hidden fire beneath the man’s unassuming looks. He shouldn’t be underestimated.

He did end up _here_ , after all.

“Fuck me,” Derek murmurs, from the cell beside Logan’s, “I know I said I’m not into dick, but I could make that work.”

“Got some competition, it looks like,” Logan mutters. He can see a handful of cells in front of him, sees the hungry way the new guy’s being eyed by Smythe, Pike, even the Brightman twins, who’d somehow finagled their way into a shared cell.

“Hey kitten,” Sebastian purrs lasciviously, leaning as far through the narrow bars of his cell as he can, “You look like you’ll be fun.”

The man turns, eyes Sebastian up and down with a sweet smile, “I can be. You wanna see?”

Before Sebastian can so much as open his mouth for a reply, the man darts forward, quick enough to surprise the four guards leading him down the block. He twists his hands, wraps the chain of his handcuffs around Sebastian’s wrist in one smooth motion and _yanks_.

There’s a sickening crack, as Sebastian’s wrist shatters. It’s quickly followed by shouting as the guards grab the new guy back, shoving him forward forcefully.

“That’s enough, Larson,” one of them barks, “Wouldn’t wanna wind up in solitary your first day, would you?”

The man — Larson, apparently — smirks, blowing a kiss to his audience as he’s yanked to his own cell.

There’s silence, as he’s led away, punctuated only by the pained whimpering from Sebastian’s cell. Then Cameron Pike speaks, just loud enough for the surrounding cells to hear.

“Dibs.”

His name is Julian, Logan finds out later. One of the perks of having a cell near the entryway is that he often hears the guards gossiping, gleans useful information that he files away for later use. They don’t mention what he’s in for, but Logan’s almost certain it’s murder. That’s what Logan’s in for, after all. What most of them are in for.

(There _had_ been one prisoner, just briefly, in for behaving in a none-too-appropriate way with a very young relative. But then Derek, Cameron, and quiet little Dwight had pulled him aside to “talk”. Logan hadn’t personally seen the body, but he’d heard they’d done impressive work.)

The chow hall goes quiet when Julian walks in for the first time, unescorted by guards. He looks a little on edge, his eyes darting around as he grabs a tray and takes the tasteless slop offered to them all. He stills for a moment, glancing at the room of half-full tables. His eyes light on the plaster cast on Sebastian’s wrist, and he almost _smirks_ , shoots a wink to the man as he walks past.

It’s the twins who finally tempt him into sitting. It’s not entirely surprising. The twins, despite their violent criminal pasts, have an odd aura of friendliness about them. They smile brightly at him, each picking something off their own trays to share with their new _friend_.

Well, that’s Logan’s curiosity satisfied. He pulls out the book he’d stashed in his waistband, flipping to the page he’d left off on. Nobody sits with him, thankfully, now well aware of how much Logan despises being disturbed. Derek’s really the only one he’ll tolerate sitting beside him, but they’d been put on opposing meal schedules for this week.

He’s midway through his chapter when he feels eyes on him. He looks up, ready to snap at whoever’s watching him.

He finds Julian. He’s still at the Brightman’s table, now joined by Wes and David, but he doesn’t seem to be making an effort to join the conversation. Instead, he’s staring over at Logan almost curiously. Logan’s not sure if it’s because he’s alone, or because he’s reading. But Julian doesn’t look away when he’s caught.

Usually, Logan would glare.

For some reason though, he just stares back. After a moment, Julian’s lips quirk the tiniest bit, and he turns back to his food.

Interesting.

Then yard time rolls around, and all hell breaks loose.

Logan doesn’t quite get the full story. He’d squirreled himself away to his usual spot under a large oak tree, pulled his book out again and glared at anyone who dared get near him. Somewhere across the yard, though, _someone_ — nobody’s stories quite matched up as to who exactly — got a little too handsy with Julian.

A fight had broken out almost immediately.

Julian had been unceremoniously pulled back inside by two guards. A handful of others had followed quickly, and Logan had closed his book to examine the damage.

“I changed my mind,” Derek says, sporting a rather impressive black eye, “He’s a pain in the _ass_ , what the fuck. I wasn’t even _involved_ and Pike punched me.”

“You’re always involved,” Logan says, rolling his eyes.

“Please, so were _you_ when you first got here. Before you got all boring and decided to focus on a useless college degree.”

“I’m bettering myself. You should try it.”

“We’re all serving multiple life sentences, Lo,” Derek says slowly, as if Logan could have possibly forgotten, “There’s no bettering ourselves at this point. Your only goal should be not getting beat to death in here.”

“Nobody bothers me. They know I could take them all down.”

Derek shrugs, “I’m just saying. It might be good to remind them every so often.”

They don’t need reminding.

Logan _knows_ they don’t need reminding.

Derek’s not wrong about the life sentences, of course. Logan had already been facing the rest of his life in a cell when he’d gotten here. The two people he’s killed in prison haven’t done anything to lessen that sentence.

(Not that they hadn’t deserved it, of course, but Logan had regretted it just a little bit when the judge tripled his punishment.)

But after a few years locked up, asserting his dominance over the other prisoners hadn’t seemed so important. It got boring. Trying to finish the education he’d interrupted was _something_ , at least, some kind of goal he can work toward. He’s not quite sure what he’s going to do when he finishes. A Master’s, maybe? A PhD, after that?

The point is, though, that Logan has other things to worry about than fighting with the other inmates.

He’d rather not deal with the other inmates at all, really, but it seems not everyone’s on board with that plan.

When Julian Larson sets his tray on Logan’s table exactly one week after his arrival, the whole room goes silent. Nobody’s dared to sit by Logan in over a _year_ , especially not the fresh meat. But Julian doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest.

“Hi,” he says, “Seat taken?”

He slides onto the bench without waiting for an answer, and Logan blinks at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting. Kind of hard to eat standing, after all.”

“Yes, but why _here_?”

“Your table’s always empty,” Julian explains, stabbing at a steamed carrot with his fork, “Besides, I want to talk to you.”

“You want to talk to me.”

“Yes.”

Logan blinks, “So…talk, then?”

Julian sets his fork down, folds his arms across the table and levels Logan with an intense look, “People respect you.”

“Good. I’ve done a lot of work to make sure they do.”

“They’re scared of you, too.”

“They have reason to be.”

“They’re not scared of me.”

Ah.

“Why should they be?” Logan asks, honestly, “Other than breaking Smythe’s wrists — which are pretty thin anyway, so don’t think that was some big accomplishment — what have you done to make them afraid of you?”

“I _killed_ someone.”

“Congrats. So did I. So did most of us.”

Julian frowns, “You killed someone?”

“My dad.”

“Fuck. Did he deserve it?”

“He did,” Logan says, “I’m sure yours did, too.”

Julian’s eyes darken a little, “Yes. He did.”

“So again, why are you talking to me?”

Julian shifts uncomfortably, “I thought maybe…we could work out an arrangement.”

“An arrangement.”

“Where you…dissuade other people from getting close to me. Prisoners and guards.”

“Uh-huh,” Logan says, “And what do I get in return?”

He shouldn’t be surprised by the slow slide of a hand against his thigh.

“I take care of you,” Julian says, his voice a low purr, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Logan blinks, but doesn’t move the hand away, “Everything you know about prison comes from the movies, hm?”

“Please, I hear them talk. I find someone to protect me, and all I have to do is bend over in the showers every so often.”

“Oh, so I have to protect you _every_ day but I only get my dick wet twice a week or so?”

Julian scowls, “Well excuse me, I thought I was offering a pretty good deal.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“So?”

Logan sits back in his seat, considering. It _has_ been a while, truth be told. Julian is so very pretty. And sure, maybe Logan wants a little bit of company every now and then.

“Fine,” he says, “I suppose we could give it a shot.”

Julian looks relieved. He squeezes Logan’s thigh, “So then, when do we start?”

“Well my part is easy,” Logan shifts in his chair, finds the first person looking their way and gives him a glare so withering he drops his water cup.

“And my part?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Logan suggests, “You’re on the early shower schedule too, right?”

“Yes.”

“It won’t exactly be private,” Logan warns, “Not really many places to hide in here.”

“That’s okay,” Julian grins, reaches forward and grabs a sliver of chicken from Logan’s plate, “I like an audience.”


	50. Librarian!Logan

The thing is, Julian’s not really a big reader. He gets fidgety too easily, feels like he’s wasting time if he curls up on an armchair with a book. But sometimes he takes roles based on books, and he’d be a fool to not read the source material before filming. Usually, he’ll order the book off Amazon. It’s easy, quick, convenient to click a few buttons while he waits at a red light.

For _this_ role, though, he tries something a little different.

His character is a lot different than him, spends most of his time holed up in a quiet corner of his favorite library, working on the first draft of his manuscript. It only makes sense, really, for Julian to do the same.

He walks into his local library, makes a beeline for the front desk, and asks the distracted librarian where he can find the book he’s looking for.

The sweater-vest clad man looks up from his work, and Julian’s heart skips a beat.

It’s not an uncommon kink, to be into librarians.

Julian just never thought it would hit _him_.

The librarian is unfairly gorgeous. He’s bulky, obviously muscled beneath his thick plaid sweater vest and long-sleeved shirt. His hair is a beautiful silken-gold, tousled just slightly and so soft in appearance Julian itches to run his hands through it. He’s wearing thick, horn-rimmed glasses, which magnify eyes so green Julian’s not sure they’re real.

“That aisle,” the librarian says, pointing, “Second shelf over, near the top.”

Julian blinks, “Huh?”

“The book you asked for?” The man raises one perfect eyebrow, “Second shelf over, near the top. Might wanna be quick, apparently they’re making a movie based on it. It’s probably going to be a popular pick the next few months.”

“Oh, yeah,” Julian says, “I’m…thanks.”

He turns away, internally cursing himself for not being at least a _little_ bit smooth. So what if the man looks like a Greek god come to life, _he’s_ Julian fuckin’ Larson!

But the moment’s passed, and the librarian’s already turned back to sorting through the stack of books on his desk. Julian heads to the shelf he’d been pointed to, running his finger over the spines until he finds the right one. He turns back to the desk, clearing his throat.

“Could I check this out?”

The man gives Julian a _look_ , “Do you have a library card?”

“…I need a library card?”

“That’s typically how libraries function, yes.”

“I don’t have a library card.”

The librarian rolls his eyes, slides a clipboard across the counter, “Fill this out, please.”

Julian takes the form and the pen offered. It’s simple enough — his name, address, phone number, e-mail address. He hands it back, and the librarian looks it over.

“Okay, Mr. Larson. Just give me one moment to input this.”

He turns to his computer, typing quickly. Julian takes the opportunity to admire the man again. He really is _beautiful_ , even if his taste in clothing is a little bit tragic. He draws his lower lip in as he concentrates, biting it just slightly. It’s oddly endearing.

“Alrighty then, Mr. Larson, here’s your new card and your book.”

Julian takes the offered items, actually managing to smile winningly this time, “Thank you, Mr…?”

“Logan. Just Logan.”

“Well, Mr. _Just Logan_ ,” Julian winks, “Thank you. You don’t by any chance have somewhere I could read this, do you?”

Logan raises an eyebrow again, and lifts one finger in a point. Julian turns. Just ten feet away, there’s a whole row of comfortable-looking couches and armchairs, all settled around the large windows on one side of the library.

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

He slinks away to one of the chairs, selecting one in the corner, in the sunniest spot he can find.

Within three pages, Julian’s completely forgot about embarrassing himself in front of the hot librarian.

The book is _good_. Really good.

In reading the script, Julian had mostly only noticed the differences between himself and his character. The man is far more introverted than Julian, likes reading and writing instead of acting and physical activities. But their motivations are the same — the character suffers from an intense need to please people, to prove himself in whatever way he can. Julian finds himself starting to relate to his character, and ideas of how to properly act the part start forming in his head.

He doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten, not until a shadow falls over the pages.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Logan says, “But we’re kind of closing.”

Julian looks up. The library’s completely empty, a fact he’d somehow completely missed. He winces a little, marks his place in the book and stands.

“Sorry about that, I guess I didn’t realize how long it’d been.”

“No need, I understand,” Logan eyes the bookmark, only a few pages from the end, “You know if you planned on just reading that here, you didn’t need to check it out.”

“No, I need to keep it. I’ll probably read it a few more times.”

“You like it that much?”

“It’s good.”

“One of my favorites.”

“Oh,” Julian tilts his head, trying to play casual, “Is it?”

“It is,” Logan folds his arms over his chest, smirking a little, “I look forward to your interpretation of Noah.”

Julian blinks, “Wait, you _knew_?”

“I work at a computer literally all day. I do happen upon the occasional Buzzfeed article.”

Julian makes a face. He knows the exact article Logan’s talking about — _Former teen heartthrob to play stuffy writer!_ — and wishes more than anything that it had been the write-up in the _LA Times_ he’d seen, instead.

“Oh don’t worry,” Logan says, “I refrained from putting your name in our system as _Teen Heartthrob Julian Larson_.”

He grins, then spins away, leaving Julian to slink out of the library in shame.

Julian finishes the book in the comfort of his own home. He reads it again, swinging in the hammock in his backyard. And again, stretched out on a towel on his favorite beach. He’s confident in his ability to accurately portray his character now, finally understands the real meat behind the man.

Then he gets the late notice email.

 _Mr. Larson_ , it reads, _our records show that you have exceeded your two-week period for_ _Hidden Paradise._ _The book has been requested by numerous patrons, and we request you return it at your earliest convenience, along with the accrued late fees._

Fuck.

Logan gives him a stern look, when he returns to the library.

“You’re late,” he says, annoyed, “That’s a $2.75 fee.”

“I didn’t know it was only two weeks,” Julian says defensively, sliding the book across the counter, “You didn’t say anything when I checked it out.”

“It was written on the receipt,” Logan explains, “ _and_ it was on the form you filled out.”

“Well I’m bringing it back you.”

“Fantastic. That’s still a $2.75 fee.”

Julian sighs, patting his pocket for his wallet, “Do you take AmEx?”

Logan points to the sign in front of him, unimpressed.

_Cash Only_

“Okay, well I don’t have cash.”

“Well then, it seems we have a bit of a dilemma.”

Julian’s struck with a sudden flash of brilliance, “Okay then, how about something else?”

“I don’t accept autographed headshots.”

“I _meant_ , what if I take you to dinner instead?”

Logan looks a little startled by that. He leans forward on the desk, narrowing his eyes a little.

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in that?”

“Please. How many straight men do you know who wear _sweater vests_?”

“My stepmother bought me this sweater vest.”

“You didn’t have to _wear_ it.”

“Yes I did,” Logan says, “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“So are you saying you’re _not_ into men?”

“Who says I’m into _you_?”

Julian blinks. Logan laughs at the stunned expression on his face.

“Wow, people don’t turn you down often, do they?”

“No,” Julian frowns, “I mean not — are you saying I’m not your type?”

“I didn’t say _that_ , either.”

“You’re very frustrating.

Logan grins, “I’ve been told. If you’re taking me to dinner, you should know that I have a _lot_ of questions about what you thought of the book.”

“So…that’s a yes, then?”

“I mean, if you’re not going to give me the $2.75, I need _something_ , right?”

Julian smiles, “Tell you what, I won’t even hold you to a $2.75 budget.”

“How sweet.”

“In fact,” Julian leans in, close enough that he can see the sparkle in Logan’s eyes, “I’ll spring for dinner _and_ dessert.”

“Oh man, you’re going to spoil me.”

“Maybe if you’re good, we could get a whole appetizer.”

Logan laughs. It’s a pleasant sound, deep and happy, and it makes Julian’s skin tingle.

“I look forward to it, Julian. I’ll see you soon.”

Julian’s so elated, he forgets to actually give Logan a _time_. He doesn’t realize until he’s halfway home.

That’s okay, though.

It’ll just give him another excuse to visit the library.


	51. Set It Up

“He’s _exhausting_ ,” Derek snaps, his hand clutched around his coffee cup with enough strength to crack the styrofoam, “Honestly, I only took the job to have some experience until my Master’s program starts in the fall, and I thought working for my _friend_ would be tolerable.”

“But it’s not?” Casey asks, breaking off a bite of her lemon pound cake.

“It’s the _worst_. I mean, I knew people working in politics had crazy schedules, but he never goes home. He has a pull-out couch in his office. He literally sleeps with his phone ringer on full volume just in case someone calls for him.”

“Julian does too,” Casey says, “Except he doesn’t actually wake up when it rings, so _I_ have to wake him up.”

“That’s not your job, is it? I thought you were working with his publicist.”

Casey rolls her eyes, “I am. But apparently his personal assistant fucked up his coffee order two days in a row, so Julian fired him. Carmen’s interviewing potential candidates to replace him, but until then that’s falling on me.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” Derek reaches over, taking a piece of Casey’s dessert.

“It is. But I need a stellar recommendation for Carmen, so I can’t exactly afford to lose this.”

“Is it true he’s a method actor? That he’ll use accents and voices and stay in character the whole time he’s filming?”

“Oh my _god_ , yes,” Casey sighs, “And the character he’s playing now is an absolute dick, so he’s been a nightmare. Plus he keeps going on these crazy fad diets, and it’s _impossible_ to keep up. Last week he was juicing, and I think this week is keto? I don’t fucking know.”

“Well at least Logan doesn’t diet.”

“Have you gotten him to eat a vegetable yet?”

“Nope. If it’s not something he can hold in one hand and eat in ten seconds, he won’t touch it. And I’m not exactly gonna hand him a stalk of raw broccoli.”

“I can’t believe _Logan_ ’s that hard to deal with. I mean, you guys have been best friends for years.”

“You know what the problem is?” Derek leans forward, “He needs to get _laid_.”

“ _I_ need to get laid,” Casey deadpans, “This is the first time our breaks have lined up in _weeks_ , and if we’re ever home at the same time I’m too fucking exhausted to do anything.”

“Tell me about it. I’m pretty sure my dick’s about to fall off from lack of use.”

“Gross.”

“I should just…” Derek sighs, pushing away his now-cold latte, “I need to find someone to set Logan up with, that’ll distract him. You should do the same with Julian, find him a nice girl.”

“Or guy,” Casey says, “He came out as bi a year or so ago.”

“Guy,” Derek blinks a few times, considering, “Hang on, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“What are you — no. No, there’s no way Logan is _Julian Larson’s_ type.”

“I’m offended by that. Logan’s rich, he’s hot, he’s smart…”

“Julian’s all those things, too. Plus talented.”

“ _Logan’s_ talented!” Derek exclaims, “You remember he can sing, right? Could’ve gone to Julliard on a full ride if he wanted.”

“Julian won his first Oscar at _eighteen_. He’s nearly hit an EGOT.”

“What kinds of guys has he dated? What are they like?”

Casey leans back, thinking, “He likes blondes, but he’s dated brunettes I think. Most of them are taller than him. Musicians, mostly.”

“Ironically, I happen to _know_ a tall blonde musician.”

“Politician.”

“Close enough.”

“It won’t work.”

“Well there’s no harm in trying, right?” Derek grins, “If it works, we finally get some us time. If it doesn’t, our lives stay the same as they are now.”

Casey sighs, “Fine. Fine, I guess it’s worth a shot.”

It takes a few days, to put a plan into action. Julian’s schedule is set in stone _weeks_ in advance, and Logan’s isn’t much better. But then one of Logan’s meetings falls through last minute, and Julian just happens to have reservations for the grand opening of a new sushi bar. It’s a quirky, hipster place — rather than normal tables and booths, it houses one long bar, where customers are seated beside each other. Derek has to make a series of increasingly panicked phone calls, but he finally manages to get Logan a last-minute lunch reservation.

“It’s a publicity thing!” Derek insists, “You need to be seen out and about in the community you’re representing, supporting small businesses!”

“I don’t even _like_ sushi,” Logan argues.

“So order tempura or something, I don’t care. But you need to eat something.”

Logan sighs, “Fine, but I want to go after those reports from Ainsley right after.”

“Deal. Totally a deal.”

He finally — _finally —_ manages to push Logan out the door, fires off a quick text to Casey letting her know the plan is on. She’s gone ahead, made promises to flirt with (and bribe, if necessary) the waitstaff at the restaurant to ensure Julian and Logan get seated together. It shouldn’t be too hard, they _are_ both VIP’s, after all.

He’s on edge for the next half hour. But then his phone chimes with a message from Casey.

A picture.

Of Logan and Julian sitting together, leaning _very_ close. It’s taken at a bit of an odd angle, Casey obviously having to hide behind an oversized plant. But _still_.

He’s actually _excited_ for Logan to come back to the office this time. He remembers how Logan used to be, when he’d find a new infatuation. The way he walked around all floaty, how he smiled and laughed and devoted so much time to wooing the man.

But that’s not the mood he finds Logan in when he comes back.

Because Logan doesn’t _come_ back.

Derek makes it to the hospital approximately twelve minutes after Casey’s call. He marches straight to the receptionist desk, demands to be shown to Logan Wright’s room.

Casey’s waiting in the hall.

“I don’t know how it happened,” she murmurs, “I mean, he _knows_ he’s allergic to shellfish, right?”

“He’s known since he was three. What the fuck did he eat?”

“I don’t know,” Casey sighs, “Just…go check on him, okay? I don’t think I could live with myself if our stupid plan wound up killing him.”

Derek pushes his way into the room. Logan’s sitting up on the cot, which is a good sign. He’s _talking_ , which is an even better sign.

Casey hadn’t warned him who he would be talking _to,_ though.

“Oh, Julian,” Logan says, when Derek bursts into the room, “This is Derek. My assistant. Derek, this is the asshole who tried to _kill me_.”

Julian glares Derek’s way, “I did _not_ try to kill him. We were sitting beside each other at lunch, having a _nice_ conversation, and I _kindly_ offered to share some of my scallops.”

“He’s allergic to shellfish.”

“Well _I_ didn’t know that, shouldn’t he have?!”

Logan crosses his arms, “How was I supposed to know scallops were a type of shellfish?”

“Because they’re from a fucking _shell_!”

Derek can see the anger rising in Logan’s eyes, knows exactly how quickly this can turn into a disaster.

“Well, it looks like he got to the hospital in time, so everything’s okay, right?”

“Yeah, because I knew how to use his fucking EpiPen when stopped _breathing_.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped breathing if _someone_ hadn’t _poisoned_ me!” Logan snaps.

Derek winces. Logan and Julian are glaring daggers at each other now, both doing their absolute best to destroy the other with just a look. He takes a step forward, intending to step between the pair. But then Casey’s leaning through the door.

“Julian?” She says, her voice an absolute _blessing_ , “Your rehearsals for SNL start in twenty minutes, and we’re a good thirty minutes away with this traffic right now.”

Julian shoots one more harsh look Logan’s way, “You’re welcome for saving your pathetic life, by the way.”

He sweeps out of the room without another word, and Casey sends Derek an apologetic look as she follows him out. Derek sighs, turns back to Logan and looks him over. He’s a little paler than normal, but Derek’s seen him far worse. He’s hooked up to a heart monitor that’s beeping steadily. If it’s anything like normal, he’ll likely be here for observation for the next 3-4 hours, and Derek just knows that’s going to mean a mountain of work for him later.

“I almost got _killed_ by an _actor_ ,” Logan spits, “Do you have any idea how humiliating that would’ve been? What the news headlines would’ve said?”

“In his defense,” Derek says slowly, “He had no way of knowing you had allergies. It’s kind of your responsibility to know what foods you can and can’t eat.”

“They didn’t fucking look like shellfish! There were no shells!”

“I guess it’s kind of my fault,” Derek admits, “I probably shouldn’t have sent you to a sushi restaurant.”

“I mean it was _good_ ,” Logan says, his anger fading just a little, “I liked the tuna thing. And the salmon, oh my _god_.”

“So not too bad, then? Other than nearly dying, I mean.”

“It was fine, I guess. But I’m going to need you to go get those reports. They said I can’t leave until _five_ , and we need to have those done by today.”

“Alright,” Derek nods, “I can be back in an hour or so. Is there anything else you need?”

“Casey works for that guy, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Logan shrugs, glancing away a little, “Do you think you could…I don’t know. Maybe get his number? So I can yell at him for nearly killing me, of course.”

Derek grins, “Of course.”

Two weeks later, Logan takes a _day off_. Derek’s absolutely blown away when he wakes up to that text, turns to Casey in shock to show her.

“Julian too,” she says, sounding just as surprised as him, “He asked me to cancel his interview today so he can go on a _date_.”

“I can’t believe we actually did it.”

“You know what this means?” Casey asks, her eyes sparkling, “It means we can _sleep in_.”

“…okay, but sex after, right?”

“If you bring me breakfast, maybe.”

Derek grins, then throws an arm around her waist, snuggling up close. They’re both asleep again in minutes.

If Logan’s demeanor is anything to go on, it seems their date had gone well. Really, _really_ well. He walks into work on Monday whistling a cheery tune, even makes his own coffee instead of barking at an intern to do it.

“Morning, D!” He says brightly, “How many appointments do I have today?”

It takes Derek a beat or two to get himself together, “Um…one in ten minutes, with Senator Bradford. Right after that you have a meeting with that non-profit from Queens. Then there’s lunch with Michelle, which you’ve been putting off for _weeks_ and I won’t reschedule again, and — “

“Call the restaurant,” Logan says, logging into his computer, “Ask them to add another seat to our reservation.”

“…is your father coming, too?”

“No,” Logan taps at his keyboard, “But Julian’s free, and he loves Greek food.”

“You want to bring a guy you’ve gone out with _once_ to meet your stepmother?”

Logan shrugs, “She’s always bugging me about not introducing her to guys. Besides, I think they’d get along. Julian’s done some modeling, too. It doesn’t have to be a big _thing_ , it’s not like we’re getting married or anything.”

“So I take it the date went well, then?”

Logan looks up, a dopey smile on his face, “He’s…he’s really something.”

“Oh really?”

“He’s funny,” Logan continues, “And smart, and so talented. And…and _beautiful_ , and…god, Derek, he sucked my dick and I swear I saw stars.”

“That’s disgusting, and I didn’t need to know that.”

“Just add him to our reservation, alright? He’s only in town until Friday, so I’d like to see him again.”

“I can definitely do that.”

Logan nods at him, then turns to his computer. Derek grins a little, heading back to his own desk. There’s a text waiting from Casey.

_Julian just asked me to cancel lunch with MERYL FUCKIN’ STREEP because Logan invited him out??! We’re geniuses._

Derek grins and types back a quick response, then calls the restaurant and alters the reservation. He also adds an extra request — Logan always loosens up a bit after a glass or two of wine.

He waits for Logan to leave, then books it out of the office. He’s just too curious, absolutely _needs_ to see how this goes. They’re sitting at a table outside, thankfully, making it so much easier for Derek to spy. He grins at the sight of Logan and Julian sitting _very_ close, sees Logan’s hand skip across Julian’s knee more than once. Michelle seems pleased as punch by the whole interaction, beams through the entire lunch.

Then she leaves.

Logan and Julian don’t.

Instead, they order another round of drinks. And a plate of stuffed grape leaves to share. _And_ dessert. The lunch winds up going so long, Derek gets too antsy waiting. He goes back to the office, tries to get ahead on fielding Logan’s e-mails and calls.

 _Two hours later_ , Logan finally returns. His cheeks are pink, his steps a little off-center. He’s clearly tipsy, but also oddly chipper.

“Derek, did you RSVP to the White House Correspondent’s Dinner yet?”

Derek frowns, “No. You said you didn’t want to go. You hate listening to people make fun of you, and you’re definitely going to be a target with your father considering a run for President.”

“I can deal,” Logan says, “And make sure I get a plus-one, would you?”

“…are you bringing Julian?”

“He said he’s always wanted to go. I told him I had an invite.”

“So you’re going to bring your new boyfriend to a dinner where you’re probably going to get made fun of?”

Logan frowns, “Shut up. It’ll be good for my image, right? You’re always saying I need to make myself more likable. Having a likable boyfrie — _date_ — should help with that, right?”

“You just admitted he’s your boyfriend.”

Logan blushes, “Get out.”

The photos and videos from the White House Correspondent’s Dinner go viral. They’re _giffed_. There is a joke about Logan, something about nepotism in government. But then the host launches into a long monologue about how Logan managed to get _Julian Larson_ as his date, how he must have something to offer for a chronic bachelor like _Julian_ to agree to be his date.

Logan looks a little embarrassed by the attention, but Julian laughs through the whole thing, leaning into Logan, even kissing his damn cheek right as the cameras focus on them.

Logan’s approval rating skyrockets overnight.

His appearance at such a televised event helps him reach a demographic he’s struggled with — younger voters, who had been a little put off by his stoicism and traditional solemness. Now though, he’s being praised for his relatability. For _laughing_ at himself. For _flirting_ on camera.

Derek grins when he sees the video of Logan leaning in to kiss Julian’s cheek on loop. It’s absolutely adorable, both of them grinning and blushing just a little.

It’s also all over the front pages of multiple magazines and newspapers.

It’s not a total surprise, when Logan doesn’t show up for work tomorrow. Derek expects it actually, wakes up only to check his messages and make sure Logan doesn’t plan on coming into the office. He strolls in around ten, drops a box of assorted bagels on the intern’s desk, does a _normal days’ work_ , and heads home at a reasonable time.

Casey’s already waiting, clad in a knee-length silk robe. Her hair’s curling around her shoulders, her lips curved into a smirk.

“Welcome home, baby,” she says, and Derek swallows hard as the robe pools to the floor.

He sleeps through his alarm the next morning.

They both do.

When Derek finally wakes up, after a glorious post-sex coma, he has _thirty-seven_ missed calls. _Eighty_ text messages. It doesn’t take him long to figure out that Logan’s showed up back at work, and that he’s _pissed_.

He manages to pull on a suit and get into work in forty-five minutes.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” Logan snaps, before he’s even fully through the door, “We have a _dozen_ meetings, and I’m not prepared for any of them!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek gasps, breathless from sprinting into the building, “I just thought…I mean, you weren’t in yesterday, I thought you might be with Julian again…”

“That’s done,” Logan says coldly, “I can’t believe I considered a relationship with an _actor_.”

“Did you two have a fight…?”

“We realized we’re completely incompatible, that’s what fucking happened. He’s…ugh, he’s awful.”

Logan angrily tosses a file aside, and Derek has to side-step to avoid getting hit. He’s not sure how this could have spiraled so quickly, they seemed so _happy_ just days ago.

Then Casey calls, hisses at him before he can finish his _hello_.

“What the _fuck_ , Derek? How the hell did Logan manage to fuck it up _this badly_?”

“What makes you think it was him?” Derek asks, “Julian’s a brat, too.”

“He told Julian if the relationship was going to work, he needed to take _more serious_ roles. That the stupid buddy cop comedy he has coming up is _juvenile_.”

Derek pauses, “Well…is it?”

“That’s not the point, Derek!” Casey says, “They’ve been dating all of a _week_ and Logan’s already trying to tell him how to live his life, that’s not a fair request to make!”

“I mean, Logan does have his poll numbers to worry about.”

“…poll numbers. You think poll numbers are more important than an actual human being’s happiness.”

“I think Logan’s career is more important than a guy he met a week ago.”

“…you can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

“Casey, wait — ” But the dial tone is already ringing in Derek’s ears, and he sighs as he sets his phone down. He can still hear Logan slamming drawers and snapping at interns in the adjoining room, and he takes a deep breath before heading back into the line of fire.

“Out, all of you,” he says to the interns, who are more than grateful to be excused from Logan’s wrath. Derek closes the door after the last of them, reaches into the back of Logan’s cabinet and pulls out a bottle of aged scotch.

“Sit down,” he orders, before Logan can argue, “Drink, and tell me what the fuck happened between you and Julian Larson.”

Logan looks none too pleased at being told what to do, but it’s the first time Derek’s spoken to him like this since taking the job. He sinks into his seat as ordered, glares at the glass of amber liquid when Derek slides it across the desk.

“Nothing _happened_ ,” he says defensively, “It just didn’t work.”

“You asked him to meet _Michelle_.”

“He’s the first guy in a while, okay, I was being stupid.”

“You liked him. A lot.”

“And now I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Logan sighs, “He just…it didn’t feel like he wanted anything long term. And I do. I’m not going to waste my time on someone who’s just messing around.”

“Did he tell you he didn’t want anything long term?”

“Not explicitly.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I started talking about the future,” Logan mumbles, wrapping his fingers around the glass, “Our potential future. And…he just got weird. I don’t know. Dodgy. Like he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I mean, one week in is pretty damn soon to be talking about your future.”

“I wasn’t talking about marriage and kids or buying a house together. I was just asking how it was going to work, with me living in New York and DC and him living in Los Angeles.”

“So what, were you trying to coordinate who would travel where?”

Logan glances away, “Not…exactly.”

Derek squeezes his eyes shut, “Logan, did you tell him you expect _him_ to be the one to travel?”

“I’m _busy_! I work sixty hour weeks at _least_! All of my meetings are on the East Coast, I can’t afford to be jetting off to California twice a month!”

“He’s busy too. Casey says his schedule is even more insane than yours. He can’t lose out on new roles because he’s always flying out here.”

“So what, _I’m_ supposed to fly out there?”

Derek downs his drink and tries not to sound overly condescending, “You’re supposed to compromise, Logan. That’s what relationships are all about. You realize that by telling him you think he should be the one to make all the sacrifices, you were kind of implying you think your job is more important than his?”

“I mean…” Logan blinks, “Isn’t it? I’m drafting new policy and he’s…entertaining.”

“Oh my god, you useless _shithead_ ,” Derek slams his drink down, “Sure, it’s fine to thing that. And yeah, you’re probably right. But you can’t tell him that. You can’t tell someone you care about that something they love isn’t _important_.”

Logan considers that, “Do you really think that’s what he thought I was saying? That his acting wasn’t important.”

“Well that’s what he told Casey.”

“…he did?”

“You know how you bitch to me about everything that goes wrong in your life ever? That’s exactly what Julian does to Casey.”

“…I do that?”

“Every day.”

Logan sips at his drink. He takes a breath, “I’ve been kind of a dick lately, haven’t I?”

“The biggest.”

“…I kinda thought you’d disagree with me.”

Derek shakes his head.

“Well. What should I do, then?”

“First,” Derek says, slow enough that even Logan can understand, “You should apologize to Julian. He really does like you. And you clearly like him.”

“Then what?”

“Then, you should give me a long and well-deserved vacation, so I can actually spend more than an hour at a time with my girlfriend.”

Logan smiles, “Deal.”

It doesn’t get fixed all at once.

As it turns out, Julian’s a pretty big grudge-holder. But with Derek and Casey’s help, and after half-dozen flower and chocolate delivers, Julian _finally_ agrees to go out with Logan again. They go away for the weekend together, to some cottage in the Hamptons, and Derek and Casey spend _their_ whole weekend holed up in their own house with their cell phones turned off.

They do get their vacation, eventually. Casey has to wait until after awards season for Julian’s schedule to lighten up enough that he can spare her, and Derek spends the week leading up to it filing mountains of paperwork. But they finally wind up in Tahiti, spend three glorious weeks lounging beachside and having wild sex in their hotel room.

When they come back, there’s a thick cream-colored envelope waiting for them.

 

_You are cordially invited_

_to the wedding of_

_John Logan Wright III_

_&_

_Julian Larson-Armstrong_

 

Derek’s a little irritated when he sees it.

“I can’t believe they have the audacity to get married before us,” he says scowling, even as Casey’s brand new engagement ring sparkles in the light, “After all that we did for them.”

“It’s okay,” Casey laughs, “We have more time to plan ours, it’s gonna be way better.”

“They’re having the ceremony at the Rainbow Room,” Derek says, reading the card, “It’s being catered by Bartleby and Sage.”

“Well. Maybe our _food_ won’t be as good.”

“ _Haven_ is the wedding band.”

“…I need you to make your best man toast all about how they owe everything to us, alright?”

“I’ll start writing it now.”

Derek grabs a pen from the counter, carefully marks the _yes_ box on the RSVP card, and tosses it aside.

Those assholes can afford to wait for their answer until the last minute, after everything they’ve put them through.


	52. WWII Soldier!Logan

Boot camp actually isn’t as awful as Logan anticipated.

Sure, waking up before dawn and getting screamed at every hour of the day is tough. But Logan manages to keep up with his PT without too much trouble, and he finds the best way of getting through each day is by shutting his brain off and doing what’s expected of him. He actually graduates at the top of his class, comes first in everything other than shooting.

They give him one weeks’ leave before he ships out to France.

He doesn’t go home. Not like the other men.

Instead, he boards a train upstate. He gets a few looks when he disembarks, has more than one elderly man approach him for a handshake.

“ _Appreciate what you’re doing, sonny boy_ ,” they tell him, “ _If I could go again, I would_.”

Logan has no idea how to react to that.

He feels bad accepting their thanks. He hadn’t chosen to go himself, had been drafted just out of high school and given orders before he could devise a way out of it. He has no desire to get shipped out to Europe. He knows what awaits him out there, has heard the stories of deadly gasses and men rotting in the trenches.

But he can’t think about that.

Not now.

When Dolce Larson answers the door, she looks almost sad to see him.

“Come in, dear,” she says, stepping aside to give him room, “I sent him for bread, but he should be back soon.”

Logan always feels so awkward around her. He knows she knows, even if she won’t say it. Even if she denies it, pretends her son is just like any other young man around their small town. She tries to make idle chit-cat with him, asks him what unit he’s been assigned to and how his training went.

Julian returns not half an hour late.

The bag drops from his hand the moment he sees Logan, and he mumbles some half-heard prayer as he rushes for him. Dolce conveniently chooses that moment to leave the room, misses completely the way her son wraps his arms around Logan, the way Logan presses his face into soft brown hair and inhales the scent of _home_.

“I wasn’t sure — ” Julian’s a little choked up, has to swallow a few times to get his words out, “Spencer told Merril he’d be home for a few days after boot, but then they changed his orders and he _couldn’t —_ I was afraid that you — ”

“Hey,” Logan says gently, bringing one hand to cup under Julian’s chin, “I’m here, okay? I’m all yours until Sunday.”

“Sunday?” Julian looks up, his eyes watery, “That’s only six days.”

“I know. But hey, maybe the war will be all over soon. The Germans can’t hold out forever, right?”

Julian doesn’t seem reassured. He leans into Logan’s hand, presses the corner of his lips to Logan’s palm in the softest of kisses.

“I’ll be okay,” Logan says, knowing he can’t promise that, “I’m tough, you know? I’ll find a way back to you.”

“And you’ll write?” Julian asks, “You have to _swear_ you’ll write.”

“Every day,” Logan swears, “Even if I can only manage a few words. I’ll write you every day.”

He pulls Julian close, winds his arms around the boy and utters a silent thank you to the universe that Julian’s still a few months shy of eighteen, that he’s safe for now from the horrors of war. He hopes more than anything they can end this thing before Julian’s birthday, that he’ll never open his own draft letter. Julian’s sworn up and down that he won’t volunteer himself — his mother needs him here, after all, her own income not nearly enough to keep them well-fed and clothed. Julian _needs_ to be here. Safe.

Their week together goes by in a blur.

Julian tries to keep it as normal as usual. He treats Logan to a film, to a show, to the nicest meal Logan’s had in years. Most people in town are used to Julian’s affectionate friendliness, so nobody really bats an eye when he slings a casual arm through Logan’s, or when he leans into Logan as they walk together. Still, Logan tries to keep it as tame and innocent as possible. He can’t stand the idea of anyone laying a hand on Julian when he’s not there to protect him.

On his final day of leave, Dolce packs a small bag.

“I have to go into the city,” she said over breakfast, “Julian needs a new winter coat, and I’ve heard there’s a seamstress looking for extra help in her shop. I won’t be back until after supper.”

They wait for her to leave. The moment she’s out of sight of the windows, Julian pulls Logan to his bed, kisses him desperately and tugs at his clothes. It’s quick, and messy, not at all the softness Logan had so wanted to give Julian as a goodbye.

After, though, he holds Julian as tenderly as possible, strokes his hair and whispers all kinds of pretty promises.

“I’ll come back to you,” he says, “How could I not? None of them have anything half as beautiful to fight for.”

Julian doesn’t accompany him to the train station. Neither of them would be able to maintain their composure, they know, and Logan doesn’t want Julian’s last sight of him to be with a tear-stained face and red cheeks.

He lets himself cry on the train, though, doesn’t quite manage to be subtle as he hopes. The woman beside him pulls a handkerchief from her purse, offers it to him with a sad smile.

“It must be a good girl you’re leaving behind.”

Logan tries to smile, takes the cloth and dabs at his eyes, “The best.”

Europe is a thousand times worse than boot camp.

It’s cold, it’s _wet_ , and Logan’s commanding officer tears into him almost the moment he steps foot in the camp.

“You must think you’re such a hotshot, don’t you, Private Wright?” The man spits, somehow terrifying despite being a good six inches shorter than Logan, “You think leaving boot with _honors_ makes you so goddamn special, is that right?”

“Sir, no, sir!” Logan says loudly, trying to maintain his composure as he’s been taught.

“You know what you are, Wright? You’re _shit_. You’re _nothing_. You’re just another body that’s gonna get shipped back home in a wood box, just like half the men here. All _I_ need is for you to live long enough to kill a couple Nazis, you got that?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Get the _fuck_ to your tent, Wright!”

Logan about-faces away, marches straight to his assigned tent. The officer’s words don’t bother him, not a bit. He won’t die here. He won’t get sent back to the States. He has too much to live for.

There’s just over a dozen men in Logan’s assigned quarters. Only a few look up when Logan enters, offering him slight nods and half-meant smiles. There’s one empty cot, near the back, and he tosses his ruck onto it, rubs out his sore shoulders.

“Last three men on that bunk got sent home in pieces,” the man next to him says, “We’re starting to think it’s bad luck.”

“I don’t plan on dying here,” Logan tells him, unbuckling the straps and rifling through his belongings, “Got too much to live for back home.”

“Pretty girl?”

Logan grunts in response, but the man seems to take that as confirmation. He pulls a small notebook from his pocket, slips out a faded photograph and holds it up to Logan.

“This is mine,” he says, smiling down at the photo of a pretty, smiling girl, “Cassandra. Casey. Gotta get home so I can marry her. You got a picture of yours?”

Logan doesn’t. He hadn’t intended on talking on the subject at all, really, but something must come over him. He pulls a chain from around his neck, snaps open the small locket at the end. There’s a small lock of hair, a chocolate brown curl tied with green ribbon, and Logan runs his thumb over it.

“Jules,” he says. It’s a vague enough name it can pass as female, and the man doesn’t question it.

“You gonna get home and get married, too?”

“I want to,” Logan says honestly, snapping the locket shut and tucking it firmly into his shirt, “More than anything.”

The man nods, “I’m Siegerson.”

“Wright.”

“Well, Wright. Let’s hope you’re not cursed like the last three. We’re gonna get home, alright?”

 

 

_Jules,_

 

_France is beautiful. You would love it. I’ll take you someday, when this is all over._

_I actually made a friend, can you believe it? His name is Derek Siegerson. He’s from New York, too. He’s helping me with my shooting. Sometimes we exercise together, to pass the time._

_I miss you more than anything. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to come home to you._

 

_Yours,_

_Logan_

 

 

For a few weeks, they don’t do anything. The officers seem to think they’re still useless, still too green, not suitable for the front lines.

That suits Logan just fine.

“Feel kind of useless, don’t ya?” Derek asks one day, “Sitting here, folding your socks over and over? While there’s men fighting for our freedom?”

“I like not dying,” Logan says, “I made a promise I’d come home.”

“So did I. But I made a promise to my country, too.”

“How patriotic.”

“You’re not?”

Logan shrugs, “I didn’t ask for this. I’m just trying to get out of this alive.”

“We all are,” Derek says, “But I also don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t give it my all."

 

 

_Lo,_

 

_You remember that new winter coat Ma went to buy me? It’s green. Same color as your eyes. I’m not sure if she did it on purpose, but I haven’t taken it off since you left._

_I want to go to France with you, someday. You better take me. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t._

_I’ve sent you a package, but the post office says it might take a lot longer than this letter. Just know that it’s coming. Some of the neighbors donated things for the men you’re with. Newspapers, photos of the States, some canned foods. I hope it makes you smile at least a little bit._

 

_Yours forever,_

_Jules_

 

 

They can’t stay holed up in tents forever, of course. It’s far too soon that they’re sent out, shipped off to enemy lines to crouch in trenches and hope they don’t get hit with a grenade. They’re all silent, as they make their way out, and Logan catches Derek staring at the photo of his girlfriend.

“You’ll make it,” he murmurs, “We both will.”

“We have to,” Derek says. He brings the photo to his mouth, presses his lips against it and tucks it securely into his pocket. Logan’s own hand drifts up to the locket around his neck, but he doesn’t dare open it. He can’t lose the one reminder of Julian he has to the wind.

He meets a new group of men, once they make camp. Charlie Amos, Ethan and Evan Brightman, Spencer Willis. The last name sounds familiar, though Logan doesn’t fully know why until the man rests a hand against his elbow later that night.

“Julian’s been helping Merril,” he says, soft enough that the others can’t hear, “She writes about him. She can’t…work, you know, it’s not easy…but he’s been helping out.”

Logan glances around. He knows none of the men are listening, that they wouldn’t be suspicious of two soldiers chatting. But there’s still just the smallest amount of paranoia swimming beneath his skin.

“I won’t say anything,” Spencer promises, “I just thought…if you do need someone to talk to. I don’t think they’d care, you know. But I understand.”

He smiles reassuringly, but Logan just nods sharply in return. He moves away, spread out his bedroll at the edge of the others, with only Derek beside him. He looks over curiously, raising one eyebrow.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Fine,” Logan says, “Just tired.”

 

 

_Jules,_

 

_I’m not in camp anymore. I’m scared. All I want is you._

 

 

War is nothing like boot camp.

His training hadn’t prepared him for this even a little bit. It’s hard, and stressful, and terrifying, and sometimes Logan almost _wishes_ one of the bullets would tear through his chest.

At least then, all of this would be over.

But it’s not Logan who gets hit by a bullet.

Derek lets out an inhuman scream when the bullet pierces through his shoulder. He topples to the side, and Logan drops his own weapon to catch him. He drops to his knees with Derek in his arms, screams for a medic until his voice gives out.

“L-Lo’an,” Derek gasps, even as he bleeds onto the dirt, “C-Casey, tell C-Casey.”

“Stop,” Logan says firmly, “Don’t fucking talk, alright? You’re gonna be _fine_. You’re gonna get home. You’re gonna marry Casey. I promise, alright?”

“H-have to help h-her,” Derek continues, “Y-you and J-j-jules.”

“Julian,” Logan says, inexplicably, “His name is Julian, and I love him more than anything.”

Derek blinks up at him, “Huh. K-knew you were h-hiding so-something.”

His eyes roll back a little, and Logan screams. He goes numb, for a few minutes. Barely reacts as the medic pulls Derek from his arms. By the time he snaps back to reality, his rifle is pressed against his shoulder, the magazine empty. The others are staring at him, wide-eyed.

“I’ve never seen you shoot like that,” Amos breathes, looking almost impressed, “Who woulda known you had it in you, Wright?”

 

 

 

_Lo,_

 

_We can’t afford firewood this year. It’s so cold. I hope it’s not as cold where you are. You always looked most beautiful in the sunlight._

_I saw your father today, in the city. I’m not sure he noticed me. He looked…lost. I think he might be worried about you._

 

_Come home to me,_

_Your Jules_

 

 

 

They take Derek’s arm.

Logan has to hear it secondhand, from the medic who had pulled Derek out of his arms.

“The infection spreads quickly, out here,” the man says, “But he’ll live. As soon as he’s well enough, he’ll be sent home.”

That’s a blessing, at least. Derek will be able to go home to Casey, to marry the girl he’d left behind, just like he wanted.

It only cost him a limb.

 

 

_Jules,_

 

_I’m not sure how much longer I can do this. I’m so tired all the time. I just want this to be over._

 

Logan goes a little numb, after Derek gets shot. His brain shuts off, just as it had in basic training. He only knows one thing: he has to survive.

His hands move of their own volition, pulling the trigger until his magazine is empty, then loading it again and starting the process over. He loses count of the bullets fired, the men killed.

He won’t be sent him in a coffin.

Julian deserves more than a folded flag.

 

 

_Lo,_

 

_I got my draft notice._

 

 

Logan gets the letter on the twenty-eight of August.

The war ends on the second of September.

It takes a few days for his regiment to be notified. When they hear the news, most of the men break out into sobs. Logan actually collapses, falls to his knees and cries tears of joy.

He’s going _home_.

Better yet, Julian will never see a day of war, will never see the things Logan’s seen.

He’s sent to medical, before he ships out. Just administrative procedure, they tell him — they need to log any potential injuries, to note the medical conditions of every troop before they’re sent home.

“Hey,” Derek says, a little drowsy, “They said it’s over.”

“It is,” Logan says, squeezing the man’s good shoulder, “We’re all going home.”

“I get to see Casey,” Derek’s lips curve into a dopey smile, “Think she’ll still want me?”

“You’re a war hero. She’d be crazy not to.”

“And you get to see Julian. Think he’ll still want you?”

Logan smiles, “i hope so.”

 

 

_Julian,_

 

_I’m coming home._

 

He expects another train ride. Another journey to Julian’s town.

He doesn’t expect Julian to be waiting when he arrives. Doesn’t expect Julian in an olive-green coat, a happy smile on his face.

He doesn’t expect Julian to run at him, to jump into his arms and kiss him soundly.

He doesn’t expect the other men to be _okay_ with it, to laugh and cheer and clap him on the back.

But Julian does.

And they do.

They cling to each other, Julian’s arms tight around Logan’s waist, Logan’s face buried in his hair.

“I was three days away from shipping out,” Julian breathes, “ _Three days_.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Logan says, “I’m so fucking glad.”

“I was so scared. I wasn’t sure…people were dying every day…”

“Not me. I promised, remember?”

Julian looks up at him, his eyes wet, “So what now?”

“Now?” Logan exhales, “Now, the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of our lives,” Julian smiles, “I like that.”


	53. Framed for Murder

Logan doesn’t react at his sentencing.

He’s sure that will be all over the internet later, how _heartless_ he must be to sit silently as he’s sentenced to life in prison for the murder of his fiancé. But he can’t react. He doesn’t know how.

He hasn’t felt a goddamn thing since he’d found Julian’s blood all over their living room.

His lawyer — the most expensive one Johnny could afford, one who had argued his case so persuasively that the jury had spent _days_ deliberating — is whispering to him, saying something about an appeal. Logan barely hears him. He rises from his seat, follows the bailiff from the courtroom.

As he moves down the aisle, Dolce Larson steps in front of him.

Logan hasn’t seen her since this all began. He’d called her, just once, the day Julian went missing. Before he’d become the prime suspect in the case.

“Dolce,” he breathes, “You have to keep looking, you can’t let them give up — ”

The sting of her slap across his cheek hurts more than Logan would dare to admit. She looks at him like he’s something vile, like she’s disgusted by his very existence.

“You killed my baby,” she spits at him, her voice breaking on the final word, “You _killed_ him.”

She draws her hand back again, but Logan’s yanked roughly away, stumbles after the guard. Dolce’s still screaming, her voice echoing above the noisy courtroom.

“You _killed_ my baby!”

 

 

.

 

 

It hurts. Everything hurts so _bad_.

Julian’s only vaguely aware of hands on his abdomen, rough fingers shoving thick bandages against the deep knife wound on his side. He feels dizzy. Sick. His vision fades in and out, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He doesn’t know where he is. He’d been home, hadn’t he? Off early from work, so excited to be there waiting when Logan walked in.

Where’s Logan?

“Lo?” He gasps, the single syllable taking far more energy than necessary.

But he doesn’t get a reply.

Where’s Logan?

Where is _he_?

 

 

.

 

 

He gets a cell by himself.

A kindness, the warden assures him. The whole world loved Julian, and there’s sure to be a good number of inmates none too pleased with Logan for killing him.

But he _hadn’t_.

Logan can’t believe so many people think he had, that he’d had anything to do with his fiancé’s _death_.

He _loves_ Julian, more than anything in the whole world. He’d gone cold, when he’d seen the front door ajar. The trail of blood down the hallway, the _puddle_ of it in the middle of the living room. He’d screamed, when he’d seen it, had barely put himself together enough to call for help.

It had taken him a little too long, to understand why the responding officers were asking the questions they did. Why they were asking things about _where Logan was_ , about who could vouch for him and when the last time he’d seen Julian was.

Three days later, he’d been in handcuffs.

They had no body. No leads. But Julian had been seen leaving set by multiple witnesses, and the guard at their neighborhood gate had attested to letting Julian through an hour and a half prior to Logan returning home.

It made sense, to everyone but Logan.

He would never hurt Julian.

 _Never_.

The worst part about being sentenced for Julian’s murder is what it means for _Julian_. If he’s still alive, still out there — and he _has_ to be, Logan thinks desperately — there’s nobody looking for him. If Julian’s been presumed dead, all searches will stop.

Julian’s out there, somewhere.

Alone.

 

 

.

 

 

Julian’s not sure where he is. Not home, he thinks, that’s for sure. Somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere that feels and sounds and smells different than anywhere he’s ever been.

He’s not alone.

When he comes to, there’s a man hovering over him, someone vaguely familiar who smiles down at him.

“Darling, you’re awake,” he says, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off Julian’s forehead, “I was starting to worry I hadn’t stopped the bleeding in time.”

“Where am I?” Julian manages, his voice hoarse, “Who are you?”

The man’s expression hardens a bit, “Don’t you remember me? We’ve met before. I sent you a scrapbook for your birthday.”

“I get a lot of fanmail.”

“You _tweeted_ about it.”

When Julian still doesn’t show any sign of recognition, the man sighs.

“I’m Adam,” he says, “and I’m trying to save you.”

 

 

.

 

 

_Julian’s car is in the driveway when Logan pulls in. It’s surprising — Julian had been scheduled to film until late, and Logan was planning to eat dinner alone. He smiles, walking inside, hesitating for a moment when he finds the door ajar._

_“Jules?” He calls, stepping into the foyer, “Did Steve let you out early?”_

_He gets no response._

_“Julian?” He yells a little louder, “You in here?”_

_He nearly slips, when the toe of his shoe lands on thick red liquid. It takes him a moment to realize what it is, and he drops his shopping bags. The blood’s falling in a small trail, a little lighter in the entryway, thicker as he moves toward the living room. He steps through the doorway._

_His scream tears at his throat._

_There’s so much blood. Too much, an amount that can’t possibly mean anything good. He’s in a dark haze, barely able to form a coherent sentence as he dials 9-1-1, as he begs for help._

He wakes up screaming Julian’s name. One of the guards bangs on his cell door, and Logan has to shove a fist against his mouth to muffle his sobs. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking _fair_.

This isn’t how things were supposed to be.

 

 

.

 

 

There’s just enough light in the room that Julian can see a faint sparkle of his ring, snug around his left ring finger.

He’s supposed to be getting married, soon. It’s why he’d been so happy to get off work early — to tell Logan they’d finally confirmed the caterers, the venue, the florist. That their wedding is all set to be _perfect_.

If it happens, now.

Julian doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s been nursed back to health, been brought food and water on an regular enough schedule. It doesn’t seem like Adam’s particularly inclined to _kill_ him, but he hasn’t made any mention of a ransom, either.

He’d asked, once, but had only received a small smile, a hand in his hair.

“I just want _you_ , Julian.”

He’d kissed him, then, had leaned in and pressed his lips harshly to Julian’s.

It was nothing like Logan’s kisses.

He wonders what Logan’s doing now. What he thinks, what he’s doing.

If he’s looking for Julian.

If he knows Julian hadn't  _wanted_ to leave.

 

 

.

 

 

He doesn’t expect a visitor.

It feels like the whole word has turned against him, like he doesn’t have a single friend left. But then he sees Derek sitting on the other side of the glass and nearly _cries_.

“I’d ask you how you’re doing,” Derek says, once Logan picks up the phone, “But I’m pretty sure I can guess the answer.”

“Have they found anything?”

Derek sighs, shaking his head, “Good news? They haven’t found a body. Bad news is they haven’t found much else, either.”

“Are they _trying_?”

“They assume he’s gone, Logan. They think you killed him. Julian’s not really a priority for them.”

“Then he has to be for _you_ ,” Logan insists, “Please, D, he has to be out there. He _has_ to.”

“I’m doing everything I can. I have two private firms looking, a detective…I have people combing through security footage. I’m trying, Logan.”

“Well try _harder_.”

Derek presses his lips together, “I know this hard for you — ”

“My fiancé is _missing_ , Derek! I’m in fucking _prison_ because they think I killed him, and you think this is just _hard for me_?”

“Logan — ”

“Julian’s missing and I can’t do _anything._ So I need you too, alright? You need to find him.”

Derek nods, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll see what else I can do.”

 

 

.

 

 

“Good morning, Julian,” Adam says with a bright smile, “Are you hungry?”

“When can I go home?”

Adam’s smile falters, “I made you chocolate chip pancakes. Coffee, with creamer and sugar.”

“I want to go home.”

“You are home,” Adam sets down the food. He knows Julian will eat it eventually. He always does.

“My _real_ home,” Julian clarifies, “With Logan.”

“Don’t say that name.”

“He’s my fiancé. Not you.”

Adam grinds his teeth together, “You’ll realize, you know. One day, you’ll realize that _I’m_ what you need, not him. You’ll apologize then.”

He turns away, leaving Julian alone with his breakfast. He holds off as long as he can, out of spite, but the smell of the coffee is too strong and he really is so hungry.

After all, if he _does_ get out of here in time, he’d very much like to fit into his wedding suit.

 

 

.

 

 

He gets hate mail.

A _lot_ of hate mail.

Letters from Julian’s fans, cursing at him for what they think he’s done. Print-outs of news articles, the word _murderer_ splashed across his face.

And one, that he shoves into his pocket to show to Derek.

 _He’s better off without you_ , it says in red, angry letters, _You never deserved him_.

“Something’s weird about it,” Logan says, pressing the note against the glass for Derek to read, “The way it’s phrased, it’s like it’s implying they know Julian is alive, right? Like maybe they know what happened?”

Derek looks unsure, “I don’t know. Was there a return address?”

“No.”

“They obviously disguised their handwriting, I don’t know if we could do analysis on it…I’ll try, Logan, but this might be a dead end.”

“Do you have anything better?”

“…no. No, we don’t.”

Derek takes the note.

Logan goes back to his cell.

And waits.

He doesn’t get a visitor again. He knows that can only really mean one thing.

Bad news, news that Derek doesn’t want to share.

Julian’s gone.

He just knows it.

 

 

.

 

 

It’s started to hit Julian, the possibility that he’ll never see Logan again. That he’ll spend the rest of his life in this basement, with a stranger for company.

Adam still brings food. He’ll set a sandwich down beside Julian, will smile and pet Julian’s hair as he silently eats. He’s seemingly taken Julian’s silence as _acceptance_ , begun to believe that Julian’s starting to come around.

“I take good care of you, don’t I?” Adam asks, holding a cup to Julian’s lips so he can drink, “You’ll be happy here, I promise. I’ll give you anything you want. I love you.”

“You don’t love me,” Julian says softly, the first words he’s spoken in days, “You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, but Julian, I know you better than anyone,” Adam says earnestly, wiping Julian’s chin clean with a napkin, “I think you’re starting to understand that, aren’t you? There’s only one thing still holding you back.

He takes Julian’s hand, the one with the ring around his finger — _“marry me, Jules,” Logan had said, with tear-filled eyes, “I can’t imagine being without you another minute”_ — and slips it free.

“No,” Julian breathes, watching as the ring disappears into Adam’s palm, “No, no _please_.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Adam says, “I’ll buy you a better one. This is just far too plain for someone so beautiful.”

He smiles, rising to his feet and striding from the room.

Somehow, _that’s_ the breaking point. His ring had been all he had left of Logan, all he had to keep himself grounded. He won’t let Adam take that away from him.

He won’t die here.

 

 

.

 

 

He should find something to occupy his time.

He’s here for _life_ , and all he’s done is stare at his ceiling and think about where Julian might be.

It’s killing him.

(Part of him almost wants that, wishes he could just stop all this _pain_. But then he considers what would happen if Julian came _back_ , only to be told that Logan’s gone, and he won’t do that to him.)

He does push-ups in his cell until his arms give out. Sit-ups until his abs ache. He takes out books from the prison library, tries to invest himself into the story just for a few minutes, to stop thinking about how awful his life is for a tiny sliver of his day.

On one of his worst days, he sits on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes to the floor.

“He’s gone,” he whispers, tasting the words on his tongue, “Julian’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

It’s the first time he’s let himself think like this. The first time he’s let himself consider that Julian’s actually dead, that he’s never going to see him again.

It hurts.

“Julian’s gone,” he chokes out, “He’s not coming back. He’s dea — ”

He can’t finish the word. His voice gives out on him, his body shaking with sobs.

Julian’s gone.

And Logan’s going to die in prison.

 

 

.

 

 

He’s not quite sure how long it takes. His best estimate of time is counting the meals Adam brings him. Two weeks, maybe more, since he’d slipped the butter knife from his dinner into his pocket without the man noticing. Weeks of scraping the blade against any suitable surface he can find down here. Weeks of carefully listening, of double and triple checking that Adam isn’t around.

It’s still not perfect. There’s only so much he can do with it, really. But it’ll have to do.

The basement door is locked from the outside. Adam never bars it when he’s down here, seemingly placing too much stock in his size advantage, his own ability to overpower Julian if he fights back.

But this has to work.

Adam’s smiling, when he descends the stairs with Julian’s lunch.

(It has to be lunch - right in the middle of the day, where he runs the best chance of finding someone outside to help.)

Adam’s smiling, when he sits beside Julian. When he places the turkey sandwich in Julian’s lap, slides him a glass of juice to go with it.

“Thank you,” Julian says, and Adam _beams_.

“I told you,” he says, “I only want to make you happy.”

He turns, just briefly, to straighten the books he’d placed on Julian’s nightstand, and Julian lunges.

It takes all his strength to jam the knife into Adam’s side, through what Julian hopes are his ribs. Adam lets out a pained scream, and Julian _bolts_. He takes the stairs two at a time, follows the shine of sunlight to the front door and rushes outside.

His stomach sinks.

He’d thought they were in a suburb somewhere, with houses and neighbors and people. But all he sees are trees, and grass, and a long winding road empty of cars.

He runs anyway.

He runs until his lungs give out, until his legs collapse from under him. Until his body won’t cooperate anymore, until he can’t physically _move_.

He runs for Logan.

 

 

.

 

 

Logan almost doesn’t want to get up, when he’s notified of his visitor.

It’s Derek, he knows, come with news of finding Julian’s body. To tell him his worst fears are true, that he’ll never see Julian again, that he’ll never step foot out of prison.

It _is_ Derek, as he thought.

With Michelle.

And they’re _smiling_.

“Your father’s here with the lawyers,” Michelle says, before Logan can muster up a greeting, “Signing your release paperwork.”

“They’re releasing me?”

“They found him, baby.”

“…Julian?” Logan’s eyes drift to Derek, who looks like he’s been crying, “Is he…he’s not…”

“He’s alive,” Derek says, a little breathless, “He’s in the hospital, just for a few days. But he’s gonna be okay.”

“He’s alive?”

“His parents are with him now,” Michelle tells him, “I thought we could take you home to wash up, then go see him.”

“No. No, I need to see him now.”

“Logan,” Derek says, “You’re a little bit of a mess right now. No offense.”

“I need to. Now.”

He moves on autopilot, when they finally let him out. He doesn’t bother gathering up his things, takes time only to change out of his orange jumpsuit before following his parents and Derek to the waiting car. He takes Derek’s phone in the car, googles Julian’s name and stares at the breaking news articles, complete with a blurry photo of Julian on a stretcher being hauled into an ambulance.

He’s alive.

He’s _alive_ , and Logan’s going to see him.

 

 

.

 

 

Julian has vague memories of his rescue. He remembers running, but can’t remember stopping. He has vague images of a concerned woman hovering over him, turning to call out to someone else. Of flashing lights, of someone poking at him and asking him if he can identify himself.

“ _It’s Julian Larson_ ,” the woman had said, incredulous, “ _Everyone knows who he is_.”

The next time he comes to, it’s his parents faces he sees. His mom looks like she’s been crying, her face red and tear-stained, and Travis is staring down at him like he doesn’t quite believe what he sees.

“Logan?” He croaks, feeling so _tired_ , “Where’s Logan?”

He almost misses the look Dolce and Travis share, “He’s on his way, darling. You just rest for now, okay?”

He wants to fight it, to demand to see Logan _now_. Why wouldn’t he be here? Why wouldn’t he rush to the hospital the moment he heard Julian was there?

But he’s too tired to ask those questions. He can hear his parents talking, feels someone poking something into his arm. His eyelids feel so heavy, and he can’t hold them open anymore.

 

 

.

 

 

There’s paparazzi in front of the hospital, because of _course_ there is. Travis is out there, attempting to give an official statement as he’s bombarded with questions. As soon as the Wright’s car pulls up, the cameras turn.

“Logan!” They yell, “How do you feel about being wrongly accused of the murder of Julian Larson?”

“Go,” Johnny murmurs, pushing Logan toward the front doors, “We’ll take care of this, alright?”

The receptionist doesn’t wait for him to ask. She stands, when Logan crosses to the desk, gestures him forward and leads him down the winding hallway, to a room very near the end. Dolce Larson is outside, and she looks up when Logan approaches.

“Oh, Logan,” she says softly, her eyes red, “I’m so sorry that I…I should’ve known it wasn’t you.”

Logan doesn’t care about apologies, not now.

“Is he in there?”

“Yes,” she breathes, nodding towards the door, “Yes, go ahead.”

He slips inside. He thinks Julian’s asleep, at first, his head heavy on the pillow and his eyes shut. But his eyelids flutter when Logan moves forward, and a small smile comes across his face.

“Hey,” he says, “What took you so long?”

He doesn’t know, Logan realizes, and that’s not something he wants to bring up _now_. He steps closer, drifts forward until he’s close enough to take Julian’s hand in his own.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I came as fast as I could.”

Julian blinks up at him, “You grew a beard.”

“I did,” shaving hadn’t really been one of his priorities, “I wasn’t…do you like it?”

“No.”

Logan _smiles_ , for the first time in so long, “Okay. I’ll shave it. Promise.”

“Before the wedding?”

“Yeah, baby,” Logan says, getting a little choked up, “Before the wedding.”

 

 

.

 

 

Julian stares down at his hand. The police had recovered his original ring, but neither he nor Logan had loved the idea of him putting that back on his finger after everything. They’d had a new one made, similar but not identical, one that catches the light beautifully.

“Not having second thoughts, are you?”

Two arms wrap around Julian’s waist, and he leans into Logan’s hold.

“Never,” he says, “Just thinking about how I almost didn’t get to do this.”

“But you do. In just ten minutes.”

“I do,” Julian smiles softly, tilts his head back for a soft kiss, “You know, it’s bad luck to see each other before the wedding.”

“Had to make sure you were still here,” Logan says.

Julian knows what he means. Though the nightmares have mostly gone away, there’s still a few nights Julian will wake up to Logan’s too-tight grip on his arm, to Logan screaming his name.

“I’m still here,” Julian turns in his arms, staring up at him, “Not going anywhere. Promise.”

“You better not.”

“You know, my mom said you can slap her today. It’s your wedding present.”

Logan laughs, “I’m not mad at her. She was grieving. She thought she’d lost you, too.”

“Well _I’m_ mad. I can’t believe anyone thought _you’d_ hurt me.”

“Can we not talk about that today?” Logan asks, straightening Julian’s tie, “Today is all about us. I get to marry you, finally.”

“Yeah,” Julian smiles, “Finally.”

There’s a soft knock on the door, and Derek pokes his head in, “Hey, you two ready? Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“Well?” Julian looks up at his soon-to-be husband, “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”


	54. Professor!Logan

Julian’s watched enough porn that he knows how this _should_ go. He’d stop by Professor Wright’s office late at night, find the man studiously working on…well, whatever it is professors work on. He’d pout and preen a bit, bat his eyelashes at the man until he had his wicked way with him.

Turns out, though, most professors don’t hang around the building late at night. Professor Wright’s classes all fall before noon, and his office hours end firmly at three in the afternoon. He’s always gone, by the time Julian’s out of his afternoon theatre class.

It’s infuriating.

Julian doesn’t even _need_ his Intro to Political Theory class. He’d only taken it after wandering into the wrong lecture hall, interrupting Professor Wright mid-lesson.

 _“Can I help you?”_ The man had asked, looking a little irritated at the disturbance. Julian had faltered a bit, taken aback by the absolute god of a man standing before him.

“ _Um…this isn’t Professor Portman’s Modern Shakespeare course, is it?”_

 _“Professor Portman is next door,”_ the man had said _, “And she’s a_ she _, so I’m mildly offended you confused us.”_

Julian had made quick apologies, had backed out of the room and found the correct hall. But he’d barely been able to concentrate on his lecture, the image of those bright eyes sticking in his mind for much longer than they should have.

When he’d wound up with a convenient two-hour gap in his schedule the following semester, he’d searched the course catalogue for Professor Wright’s schedule. His morning class fit perfectly, and Julian thought he’d be able to handle an introductory course.

As it turns out, political theory is much more difficult than Julian could’ve imagined. Once the initial satisfaction of scoring a middle seat just in front of the Professor’s desk had worn off, he’d found himself struggling to keep up. Wright’s lectures were fast-paced, the man spouting off so much information in one hour that Julian’s hand cramped trying to keep up. His discussions are hard, his tests even harder.

Julian, who’s always managed more-than-decent grades, actually worries about _failing_ this course. This stupid course he’d taken just so he could ogle the professor.

His first draft of their final paper had come back riddled with notes scrawled in red pen, along with a reminder about office hours.

Not exactly the sexy invitation Julian had hoped for.

“Mr. Larson,” the professor calls, after he dismisses the class, “I do trust I’ll see you at office hours to discuss your paper?”

“I have theatre at noon,” Julian says, “Voice lessons after that. I’m not actually free until three.”

“Are theatre and voice more important than political theory?”

“I’m a performing arts major,” Julian says, defensively, “I’m only taking _this_ class pass/fail.”

Professor Wright looks a little confused, “Oh, really? Well. I’d still like you to get as much out of this class as you can. I suppose I can wait around a little longer, just for today.”

“…really?”

“I expect you here by 3:15,” he says, turning to gather up his things, “We can discuss your paper then.”

Julian knows a dismissal when he hears one.

He’s a little off his game, during his afternoon classes. His theatre professor actually sighs when he fumbles a line, his vocal coach stops him more than usual to correct his pitch. He’s actually _nervous_ , when he walks up to Professor Wright’s office.

“Ah, Mr. Larson,” Wright sets aside a take-out container he’d been eating from, “Take a seat, please.”

Julian takes the offered chair, reaches into his bag and pulls out the red-stained essay.

“I can re-write it,” he says, “I know it was shit, I put it off too long and wound up writing it last minute, but I can do better.”

“It was good.”

Julian blinks, “…I’m sorry?”

“It was good,” Professor Wright repeats, “That’s why I was so surprised to hear you aren’t a political science major.”

“But…but your notes. The whole thing is red.”

“Well, yes,” Wright scoots closer, sliding the paper sideways so they can both read it, “You have a solid argument, you just need to get better at making it.”

“So…it’s good.”

“If I were giving you a final grade on this right now, I’d give you a solid C. B-, if I were feeling particularly generous.”

“Well that’s all I need,” Julian says, feeling a little lighter, “It’s pass/fail, I don’t need an A.”

Professor Wright gives him a withering look that has him sinking into the chair, “I’m not fond of students going for the bare minimum, Mr. Larson. If you’re going to take my class, I expect you to learn something. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Professor Wright looks pleased, “Now, about your introduction…”

Julian winds up discussing his paper with Wright for an _hour_. It’s the most anyone’s challenged him, since he’d started his first semester here, and he both hates and loves it. He’s determined to turn in something decent for his final grade, overcome with a desire to impress Professor Wright.

The paper’s due at eight in the morning on a Friday. Julian winds up pulling an all-nighter finishing it, finally satisfied with his work a little after six.

Of course, that’s just about when his internet goes out.

He refreshes his e-mail a dozen times, hopes and prays for it to connect just for a moment, just long enough to send in the essay. It doesn’t work, of course.

Which is how he finds himself sprinting across campus just before the deadline, a paper-clipped hard copy of his paper flapping in the wind. Professor Wright is just stepping into his office when Julian arrives, still wearing a coat and scarf. He raises an eyebrow at Julian’s disheveled appearance.

“I did say you could e-mail your assignments, didn’t I?”

“Internet,” Julian gasps, holding out his paper, “Wouldn’t work. Didn’t want to be late.”

Professor Wright takes the paper, a little wrinkled from Julian’s frenzied run across campus, and looks it over. He gives no indication how he feels about it.

“Why did you take my course, Julian?”

Maybe it’s the two pots of coffee he’d made to stay up. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, the adrenaline rush from sprinting across campus. Maybe it’s sheer stupidity, that makes Julian say what he does.

“You,” he says, simply, “I thought you were beautiful.”

“Interesting.”

It’s not a _negative_ response, and Julian steps forward, hopeful, “Professor Wright…”

But the man’s hand comes between them, soft fingers gently pressing against Julian’s chest. 

“I don’t sleep with students, Mr. Larson,” he says.

Julian feels his face flush with humiliation, “I…I’m sorry.”

“I’ll try to have these papers graded by Monday. Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Larson.”

The rejection stings. Julian hurries away, runs from the building almost as quickly as he’d made his way from the dorms.

He doesn’t enjoy his weekend.

He barely leaves his room at all, settles for ordering Chinese food to get him through the next few days.

He _wallows_.

Pathetic, really, to be so upset over a man who’d been nothing more than a fantasy. To spend two straight days drinking pink wine straight from the bottle, to shovel lo mein into his mouth until he puked. To curl up in his bed watching cheesy romantic comedies, to snarl rude comebacks at the main characters when they wind up happy at the end.

Why is he like this?

Professor Wright sends out an e-mail Monday morning. It tells the students that their papers are graded, that he’ll leave his notes in the file folder hanging outside his office for them to pick up.

Julian waits until he’s sure Professor Wright is gone for the day. He creeps over to the political science building around dinnertime, walks down the hall to Professor Wright’s office.

Much to his dismay, the door is _open_ , his professor still sitting at his desk. There’s no way to pick up his paper — the only one left, he notices — without being seen.

“Mr. Larson,” the professor calls out as Julian retrieves his graded assignment, “Could you come in, please?”

Julian sighs, “Professor Wright, I’m…I’m sorry. I was inappropriate and I…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Good job on your paper, Mr. Larson.”

Julian’s eyes drift down, where a bright red _A-_ is scrawled across his essay, “Oh. Wow.”

“I don’t expect that grade changes your mind about your major?”

“No,” Julian huffs out a laugh, “I…it’s not my thing. No offense.”

“Well then,” Professor Wright stands, moving past Julian to the door, “If you don’t intend on taking another one of my courses, I suppose you’re not my student anymore.”

The door closes, and Wright slides the lock into place.

“…Professor Wright?”

“Call me Logan, please. Though I must admit I don’t entirely object to _sir_.”

Julian’s mouth feels dry, “Logan.”

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

The professor’s hand drifts forward, settling at Julian’s hip. It feels warm, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“What’s…what’s happening, exactly?”

“I told you,” Logan says, taking Julian’s paper from his hand and tossing it on the desk, “I don’t fuck students. But that was your last assignment. You’re not my student anymore.”

“I guess I’m not.”

Julian feels himself pushed backward, the backs of his thighs pressed against Logan’s desk. The position somehow accentuates their slight height difference, and Julian bites his lower lip as Logan looks down at him. Those green eyes are dark now, and it sends a shiver down Julian’s spine.

Still, though, Logan waits for _him_ to make the first move.

It doesn’t take long. Julian can’t stand being so close and not having his hands on the professor. He throws his arms around the man’s neck, pressing their lips together.

That finally encourages Logan to tighten his grip on Julian’s hips, to lift him up until he’s perched on the desk.

It’s a bit of a blur, after that. Logan works _fast_ , has Julian’s clothes in a messy pile on the floor before Julian can fully comprehend that this is _actually happening_. That he’s got Professor Wright’s hands on him, Professor Wright’s lips on him, Professor Wright’s cock _inside him_.

“Do you have idea,” Logan pants, thrusting hard enough that Julian’s whole body jerks, “How hard it was? You, sitting right in front of me, looking like _that_? How many times I wanted to break the rules, to throw you across my desk and make you scream my name?”

It’s so much.

Too much.

Julian’s orgasm comes far too soon, and he’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for Logan coming right after.

After, Logan brushes a sweaty strand of hair off Julian’s forehead, a soft smile on his face.

“So is this all you wanted?” He asks, “Or will you let me take you to dinner sometime, too?”

“You want to take me to dinner?” Julian asks, incredulous, “Like, an actual _date_?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Logan says, pressing a soft kiss to Julian’s lips, “After _that_ , I’d be an idiot to just let you go.”

Julian can’t hold back his grin, “Can I ask one question, first?”

“I’m not _that_ much older than you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Logan says.

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

Julian runs his fingers up Logan’s arm, “Can I still call you _Professor_?”

Logan grins, his eyes sparkling, “Only in the bedroom.”


	55. Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol pretty sure none of you anticipated me assigning the characters the way I did

_Five Years Ago_

 

“The truth is…” Julian Larson glances down at his cue cards, growing silent for a moment. He drops them on the podium, then looks resolutely into the camera, “I am Iron Man.”

Pandemonium.

Dozens of reporters leap out of their seats, yelling frantic questions at the celebrity, who stares resolutely ahead. Behind him, a handful of aides and assistants scramble forward, no doubt panicking at how to best deal with the man’s shocking confession.

Thousands of miles away, at a brownstone house in the middle of New York City, Logan Wright shuts off his television.

He should probably be a little more surprised at the revelation.

He’s run into Julian Larson once or twice over the years. It’s odd, the overlap between Hollywood’s best and the DC elite. They’ve traveled in similar circles, snagged invitations to the same parties. They’ve exchanged a few words, and Logan got the impression that Julian was no different than any other actor of his caliber. He seemed proud, smug in his own accomplishments.

But then, of course, there’d been that nasty business in Afghanistan — Julian had been sent as a sort of morale-booster for the troops, to screen his latest movie early to hundreds of soldiers. Somehow, his visit had turned into a weeks-long hostage situation, and he’d been rescued mostly uninjured.

The press had a field day with his change in behavior after that. It only made sense, of course, that he’d suffered some form of PTSD from being held against his will. He’d pulled out of roles last minute, had acted erratic in interviews, had flat out disappeared for days at a time.

Everyone had suspected something was going on.

Nobody had really predicted he’d become a _superhero_ , thanks to some kind of high-tech heart implant and a mechanical suit of unknown origin.

A month or two ago, it would have shook Logan to his core.

Now, though, he finds himself unsurprised by things like _superpowers_.

In fact, all he really feels is a distinct sense of injustice.

How did _Julian Larson_ wind up with that kind of deal? How did a partying, womanizing celebrity get a suit that let him fly through the air with ease? How did _he_ wind up with all that, while Logan ended up with _this_?

His hands clench into fists against their will. This shouldn’t make him so angry — he doesn’t have any strong _negative_ feelings towards the man, not on a personal level. But it’s so monumentally unfair, so twisted, and the more he thinks about it the angrier he gets.

“Hey!”

Logan’s only vaguely aware of Derek’s presence as he rushes forward, as he wraps his own hands around Logan’s clenched fists and presses him back against the wall. It _hurts_ , with Derek’s newfound strength, and _fuck_ , that’s not fair either.

“You need to calm down,” Derek says, through gritted teeth, “I’m not cleaning this up again, Lo. You _have_ to calm down.”

Nothing makes him angrier than being told to _calm down_.

He can feel the anger taking over. Feels the _thing_ bubbling beneath his skin, sees his hands start to morph in front of him, his pale fingers tinged an ugly green.

It takes almost no effort, to throw Derek off of him. His head hits the opposite wall with a sharp _crack_ , and if he were a normal man he’d surely be dead.

The thing is, Derek’s not a normal man.

Neither of them are.

Not anymore.

When he comes to, the house is a wreck. The furniture is upturned, the sofa actually _ripped in half_ , and Derek’s panting beside him, an ice pack held to his temple.

“Got control a little faster, this time,” he says, glancing at his watch, “Twelve minutes.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Logan pants, “This was supposed to fucking _help_ me.”

“Told you to just keep taking your old meds. Experimental drugs are a _bitch_.”

“Worked pretty damn well for _you_ ,” Logan snaps, watching as Derek’s bruise seems to fade before his eyes, “How the hell did _you_ turn into some kind of fucking superhero while I got _this_?”

Derek shrugs, “If it helps, you can take me in a fight _easy_ when you’re like that.”

“Yeah, but I can’t fucking control it.”

“Not yet.”

 

 

 

_Present Day_

It sounds ridiculous.

 _The Avengers Initiative_.

Like some kind of secret club.

Julian’s got memberships to enough of _those_ , thank you very much.

Still, some part of him is curious. The man who’d approached him — who’d introduced himself only as _Harvey_ , and Julian’s not sure if that’s a first or last name — had told him the world was in danger. That they needed a group of _superheroes_ to save it.

Julian’s never really considered himself a superhero.

The arc reactor had been necessity, not choice. His influence has somehow turned it into a trendy accessory, but nobody knows what it really is — how it keeps him _alive_ , prevents tiny shards of shrapnel from piercing his heart.

The suit, he’d come by purely by accident.

Haven Industries had approached _him_ , claimed they had tech that needed a powerful battery behind it, that the glowing cylinder in Julian’s chest might be the key they needed to get it functional.

Turns out, trouble finds _you_ when you have something that powerful on your body.

He hadn’t meant to save the world, really.

He was only trying to save himself.

It had been Clark who’d convinced him to hear Harvey out.

“ _We need to see what this can really do_ ,” he’d urged, his eyes alight, “ _If we can do some real good with this_.”

Still, Julian wasn’t going out of his way to get on board with this whole secret club.

The room is already full when he strolls in, fifteen minutes late with an iced vanilla latte in hand. It’s an odd little crew, and he gazes around the table.

There’s a stocky brunette man, his muscled arms threatening to burst the tight blue-and-red fabric of his shirt. Captain America, the media’s been calling him— he’d been a professional soccer player, the team captain poised to take the U.S. to the Olympics. Until he’d made the foolish decision to experiment with an experimental drug, one that had earned him a lifetime ban from _any_ sport. Of course, the drug _had_ given him unbelievable strength, and Julian’s heard rumors that he’s actually, honest-to-god indestructible now.

Interesting.

Beside him is a woman, short and lean but with an intensity that’s a bit jarring. Her black suit is almost skin-tight, but Julian can see no less than six weapons strapped within arms reach. She’s staring up at Julian with a rather calculating look, her eyes narrowed a bit. She leans in, whispering something under her breath, and Julian doesn’t miss the way Captain America’s hand rests lightly on her shoulder.

There’s another man, who no doubt thinks Julian hasn’t seen him, scowling at the whole scene from a balcony above. He’s skinny and pale, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes, one hand clutching a bow at his side.

It’s the last man, though, that really gets Julian’s attention.

“So your secret club is funded by the government, then?” He asks, turning to Harvey with a fair amount of irritation, “I think I’ve made it _explicitly_ clear that I have no desire to serve Uncle Sam, no matter how many star-spangled frat boys you use to convince me.”

“Just working the angle the internet gave me,” Captain America drawls from his seat, “Not a huge fan of the whole shtick, either. Feel free to just call me Derek.”

“Uh huh, and the Senator’s son over there?” Julian asks, gesturing, “You really gonna tell me he’s just here for shits and giggles?”

“He was recruited, too,” Harvey says, patiently, “Senator Wright doesn’t know about this. We’d like to keep it that way.”

The Senator’s son in question pipes up next, “If we’re trying to keep this secret, should we really be inviting Mr. _I-am-Iron-Man_ over here? If he can’t keep his own identity secret, is he really going to keep ours?”

“Listen up, fuckwit, there’s a lot of shit I don’t tell the media, alright?”

“How about we all shut up and actually listen to what we came for?” The woman says, loudly, “I’ve got better things to do with my time then sit here and listen to you idiots try to one-up each other.”

“Right, and you are?”

“Casey.”

“Fantastic,” Julian turns back to Harvey, “So why the fuck _am_ I here?”

“Because we need you.”

Logan frowns over at him, “We?”

“We,” Harvey nods to the side, and a woman walks out, clad in a pristine military uniform.

“I fucking told you the government was in on this,” Julian hisses, but she shoots him a sharp look that has him shutting up.

“Major Sydney Willis,” Harvey says, “This is Derek Seigerson, Casey Lambert, Logan Wright, and Julian Larson. Dwight Houston, hanging from the rafters up there. Hasn’t quite decided if he’s on board, yet.”

“I don’t think _I_ have, either,” Julian starts to say, but Sydney interrupts him.

“I’m going to make this part quick — we aren’t government sanctioned. As far as the world is concerned, this meeting never happened. But all of you have talents we _need_. If you want to go on living your meaningless, pathetic lives, than leave this room right now. But if you want to do some actual good in the world, you’ll want to hear us out.”

The group glances around, but nobody moves. Even Julian sinks down into the one free seat left, curious despite himself.

Sydney looks satisfied.

“Good. As he said, I’m Major Sydney Willis, and this is S.H.I.E.L.D.”

The briefing itself isn’t quick at all. They must sit there for _hours_ , listening as Willis and Harvey explain exactly what they’ve been called to do.

By the end of it, Julian is staring blankly into his coffee cup. Casey’s mouth is hanging open. Derek’s face is twisted in anger. Logan looks confused.

Dwight’s the only one who speaks, “ _Aliens_?”

Sydney nods, grimly, “Aliens.”

Obviously, none of them wind up leaving.

When your choices are go home and _die_ or try to save the world, it’s not really much of a choice at all.

S.H.I.E.L.D. has granted them each a kind of mini-apartment in the building, which they all walk to in a state of stunned bewilderness. Dwight’s muttering something under his breath when he enters his own room. Casey and Derek disappear into the same door, despite having their own separate apartments. Julian pauses a moment, looks back at a rather lost-looking Logan.

“You wanna see if they’ve left us any booze?” He offers, and Logan looks almost relieved.

“If they didn’t, I’m sure you can fly out and get us some.”

Thankfully, the kitchen _is_ stocked with a decent selection of liquors and wines. Julian pours himself a vodka soda that can barely call itself a _soda_ , and Logan bypasses the glass entirely in favor of taking big swigs from a bottle of scotch.

“So why are you here, anyway?” Julian asks, settling onto the surprisingly comfortable couch they’d provided him.

“You heard those two,” Logan says, “To save the world. From fucking _aliens_.”

“I mean, why _you_?” Julian crosses his legs in front of him, turning to face Logan as best he can.

Logan sighs, swirling his scotch in the bottle, “…I took the same shit Derek did, you know?”

“The _Captain America_ drug?” Julian raises an eyebrow, “What, you didn’t want to rock the spandex he does?”

“It didn’t really…I didn’t react the same way.”

“You didn’t gain superhuman strength and stop aging, you mean?”

“I got the strength. Just…at a cost.”

Julian waits a beat, but Logan doesn’t seem inclined to continue, “Are you always this cryptic?”

“Have you seen those videos? Giant green monster terrorizes NYC?”

“Oh,” Julian brightens, “Yeah, are you kidding, everyone’s seen those. I mean, that thing is _terrifying_ , I… _oh_.”

“Yep.”

“That thing is you?”

“It’s me.”

He brings the bottle to his lips, taking another long swallow. Julian feels a little guilty.

“Is it…what is it, exactly?”

“The guys who made it…they tried to alter the formula, for me. I had some anger issues, before. They were worried the drugs would exacerbate it, I guess. Tried to put some new chemical in it to tamp them down.”

“And they didn’t.”

“Not exactly. It’s like…like it separated it, somehow? Like there’s _me_ , and then there’s the thing that I turn into if I lose control.”

“So Derek became a superhero, and you…”

“Got cursed,” Logan offers, “Not quite sure why Harvey brought me in on this. But if he has some idea on how to make this useful, I’m on board.”

He looks so solemn, so _sad_ , and Julian has to say something.

“You know, this thing in my chest is the only thing keeping me alive.”

Logan glances up, his eyes lighting on the part of Julian he’d been trying so hard to avoid looking at, “Is it?”

“They make t-shirts with it on it. I’ve seen kids wearing it. Like it’s some kind of fashion statement. But if I take this out, I die.”

“…at least you got a cool suit out of it.”

“Perks of having friends in high places.”

“You get to fly,” Logan says, “That seems pretty cool.”

“It is. I’d say I’ll take you sometime, but if you turn into that thing I’m not sure I could hold you up.”

Logan actually _laughs_ , “Hulk. They’re calling it the Hulk.”

“So we got Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America…”

“Casey claimed Black Widow,” Logan says, “Said it sounds badass. Think I heard Harvey call that weird guy Hawkeye.”

“Fucking weird crew, aren’t we?”

“Not as weird as aliens.”

Seems Logan spoke to soon on that one.

They’re only a few days into training when Harvey walks in with a new guy — “ _what,” Casey muttered under her breath, “Am I the one token woman? Let’s try for some diversity next time._ ” — and a shocking statement.

“Hold up,” Logan steps forward, shaking his head, “So we’re _recruiting_ aliens, now?”

The man beside Harvey doesn’t quite _look_ like an alien — he’s actually fairly attractive, in Julian’s opinion, tall and muscled with piercing green eyes and an intense focus.

“This is Riley,” Harvey says, clapping the serious man on the shoulder, “He was a little harder to get in contact with, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“If we’re fighting aliens, why are we working with them?” Casey asks, crossing her arms over her shoulders.

Major Willis steps forward, glancing at Riley for a moment, “Because it’s his brother we’re fighting.”

“I’m sorry,” Dwight says, from his usual perch high above the rest, “His _brother_?”

Riley looks mildly uncomfortable, “He’s going through a phase.”

“A phase,” Julian deadpans, “When I had a _phase_ I partied every night and tried LSD. And _your_ brother’s phase involves trying to take over an entire planet.”

Riley makes a face, “We’re working on it.”

“Right,” Derek blinks, “Well. Welcome to the squad, I guess.”

Riley turns out to be a more than useful addition. Not only does he have in-depth knowledge of how his brother works, he _also_ has some kind of magical hammer. That summons lightning.

It’s pretty badass.

“So we’re all clear on the plan, then?” Major Willis asks, far too soon, “Everyone on board the whole saving-the-world mission?”

“Not exactly,” Riley chimes in, glancing over at Logan, “What’s his role, again?”

“Back-up plan,” Sydney says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well I _am_ worried,” Riley says, “He doesn’t seem…stable.”

 _Dick_.

Logan feels that rage again, feels the sharp pain of his nails digging into his palms when his hands clench into fists. Derek moves beside him, squeezes his arm and whispers something into his ear.

But it’s not Derek who he notices.

Julian’s moving, too, one of his hands sliding down Logan’s arm, his fingers winding around Logan’s clenched fists.

“Prove him wrong,” he murmurs, “Not here. Tomorrow. When we save the world. You’re going to prove all of them wrong.”

Logan’s not sure why that affects him so strongly. Why that, more than anything, keeps him grounded to _this_ version of himself. Derek looks a little shocked, when Logan regains control. Major Willis looks curious.

Harvey looks proud.

“See?” He says, smiling at Riley, “He’s fully in control.”

Julian doesn’t seem surprised by the knock on his door later that night. He smiles at Logan, hands him an already-poured glass of scotch and lets him in. Logan downs the whole thing before he’s fully passed through the entryway.

“How did you do that?” He asks, turning to Julian with a fiery gaze, “Nobody’s ever been able to do that. Not Derek. Not my stepmother. Nobody.”

Julian looks confused, “How did I do what?”

“Keep _him_ from coming out,” Logan says, “The Hulk.”

Julian’s expression changes, a small smile coming over his face, “That wasn’t _me_. That was you.”

“It wasn’t,” Logan insists, “I’ve never been able to just _not_ …but then you started talking, and…”

“I just gave you a reason. That’s all you really need, isn’t it? Something strong enough to keep you there.”

“Strong enough.”

Julian shrugs, “Spite can be a pretty big motivator. It works for me.”

But Logan wants something more than _spite_. Something stronger. And he’s starting to get an idea as to what that could be.

Most people would back away from Logan, if he were to storm forward and grab them. He wouldn’t be able to blame them, either, if they’d seen what he could turn into. But Julian doesn’t budge. Not when Logan moves forward. Not when Logan grabs onto him.

Not when Logan pulls him close, and kisses him for all he’s worth.

It’s crazy, probably. Absolutely insane. But they might _die_ tomorrow, and something about Julian makes Logan feel differently than he ever has before, and he doesn’t want to miss out on what might be his only opportunity to feel whatever this could be.

And Julian doesn’t pull away.

In fact, Julian only moves to wind his arms around Logan’s neck, to pull him closer as he steps backward to the sofa. His knees hit the cushion, and he falls backward, taking Logan with him.

Logan hasn’t admitted it to anyone other than Derek, but he hasn’t actually been intimate with anyone since he first realized what he’d become. He’s been too scared, terrified that he’d lose control of himself partway through, what he could _do_ to another person.

But he’s seen what Julian can do. How quickly he can react to danger, the odd _bond_ he has with his suit, how he can call it forward with the slightest gesture.

He can take care of himself.

And Logan wants this so, so badly.

He’s a little in awe, when he gets Julian’s clothes off. Not just because of how beautiful he looks, because he _is_ so, so beautiful. But also the glowing light of the arc reactor in his chest, the rough scar tissue around it. Julian looks a little unsure, as Logan stares, but then Logan’s dropping a kiss to the blemished skin, and they’re both lost.

It’s slow, and messy, and they have to stop more than once when Julian starts to slide off the sofa. But soon enough, Julian’s muffling a low moan into his hand, and Logan’s biting at the tender skin of Julian’s shoulder to keep a scream at bay.

They both collapse, rolling fully onto the floor this time. Logan takes a minute to just _breathe_ , squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on keeping himself together.

But then he hears the sound of a _sob_ , and his eyes snap open.

“Fuck,” he breathes, at the sight of Julian’s face, “Oh god I didn’t…I’m sorry, I thought you wanted that too.”

“No,” Julian waves him off, “I mean, _yeah_ , I did. I do, I just…”

It’s _awful_ , watching someone cry after sex. Logan knows it’s been a while, but he didn’t think it was _bad_.

“I don’t want to _die_ ,” Julian finally chokes out, “I know I act like I don’t give a shit half the time, but I don’t want to fucking die.”

“Hey,” Logan leans forward, sliding a hand around the back of Julian’s neck, “We’re not going to die, okay? We have you. Derek. Casey and Dwight, who might both be a little bit crazy. Whatever the fuck Riley is. And if all goes to shit, I’m probably going to wind up Hulking out. One of us is gonna figure this out, at least.”

“You promise?”

He doesn’t know. Not for sure. But Julian looks _scared_ , and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t need some reassurance, too.

“I promise.”

The fight is horribly messy.

They knew they’d be fighting aliens.

They just didn’t know how _many_ aliens.

They watch in horror as dozens, _hundreds_ of strange inhuman creatures stream out of a strange glowing light in the sky.

“What the _fuck_?” Derek whispers, staring above, “What the absolute _fuck_?”

Despite the group’s initial misgivings about Riley, he manages to kick them into gear.

“There’s a lot of them,” he says, authoritatively, “But they’re not particularly strong. Not good fighters. Just get as many shots in as you can. Julian, try to thin them out from the top. Casey, Dwight, shoot anything you can reach. Derek, Logan, you’re in charge of the ones who make it to the ground.”

He whips his hammer around a few times, shooting into the sky in a flash of lightning. Julian takes a deep breath and presses a button on his watch. His suit forms around him, and he takes off after Riley.

They got this.

Julian and Riley do a more than decent job of thinning out the herd. More than half of the alien bodies that hit the ground are pale and unmoving. Dwight and Casey run off in separate directions, each aiming their own weapon of choice at any alien within eyeshot. Derek goes after the rest.

And Logan?

Logan Hulks out.

On purpose, this time.

It’s a little different, now. Before, it’s like he’d completely blacked out, like the Hulk had taken full control. This time, it’s like Logan’s half-awake, watching in a dreamlike state as another part of him takes over. He’s aware of the dozens of aliens he knocks out, the way Derek shouts enthusiastically at him as he tosses a car at a thick group of fighters.

He’s also aware of the panicked screams, the metallic shine of Julian’s suit as he falls from impossibly high.

 _I promise_.

Logan’s never been able to make the Hulk _listen_ to him before. Never been able to control anything, when he’s like this.

But still, he finds himself leaping up the nearest skyscraper, launching himself as high as he can go, holding out his arms to catch Julian’s falling body. He lands with enough force to leave a fucking _crater_ in the pavement, and as he starts to become himself again he’s terrified that it wasn’t enough to save Julian.

The others rush forward. Casey’s clutching one arm, Dwight’s limping a bit, Derek’s sporting a pretty badass scar across one side of his face, but they’re all _alive_.

Everybody’s focused on Julian, now.

Logan’s hands press desperately at the metal helmet, his fingers finally hitting a button that sends Julian’s faceplate snapping back and away. His face is still, his eyes shut.

 _No_.

Suddenly, _blessedly_ , Julian jerks upward with a gasp, his eyes going wide. He looks a bit frantic, his hands grasping at the arms Logan still has wrapped around him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he yelps, “Holy fucking shit, we won, right?”

Logan glances up at the others. He doesn’t actually _know_ , if he’s being honest. He’d been focused on the fight, up until he’d seen Julian fall. He’s not sure what happened after that.

“We won,” Casey says, a faint smile on her face, “Riley has his brother. The ones who survived took off. We did it.”

“Good,” Julian’s head falls back against the pavement. He still looks a little stunned, “I think I need a drink.”

It was all a misunderstanding, Riley tells them all. His brother hadn’t _meant_ to endanger a whole planet. Hadn’t actually _wanted_ to kill people.

None of them quite believe him. But he swears to take Jake back to wherever they came from, promises to keep himfar away from earth. Really, that’s all they could hope for.

“Not sure there’s a prison on earth that could keep him, anyway,” Major Willis grumbles, looking a little disgruntled, “But if he ever comes back, I’ll end him _myself_.”

They’re all fairly certain she could manage.

S.H.I.E.L.D. makes them all sit through an hours-long debrief, after. They swear not to talk about anything, swear to keep the organization’s secrets.

Dwight disappears shortly after. Casey and Derek slink away together, both looking exhausted. Julian turns to Logan, who asks the question before he can.

“Still want that drink?”


	56. Cake Wars

_“I’m not really great at talking about myself.”_

_“Just introduce yourself. We’ll cut it down, edit it into something short and sweet.”_

_“Um…okay,” Logan shifts a little uncomfortably, squinting through the lights at the camera, “I’m John Logan Wright. The third. Logan, mostly. And I came to Cake Wars to win._ ”

 

 

There’s four of them, lined up in front of the judges. They’d been told to look casual, to stand and smile as their host introduced the judges and explained the rules of the show. But Logan can’t help but eye the other contestants, sizing them up.

 

 

_“I’m Sebastian Smythe. Owner of Goût de Paris,” Sebastian says the words with a flawless French accent, “I’d say I have a bit of an advantage over the other contestants. I’m classically trained. France, of course. I know I have what it takes to win this competition.”_

 

 

Logan stares resolutely ahead as they introduce the judges. He knows them, of course, had done his research and watched every episode of the show in preparation. He knows how critical Waylynn can be over messy decorating, how much Ron Ben-Israel hates bakers who play it safe.

 

 

_“I’m Merril Portman,” the woman smiles sweetly, waving at the camera, “I guess you could say I’m kind of the underdog here?”_

_She laughs a little, brushes a dark curl from her face, “Um, I don’t have any fancy training. I don’t own a bakery. I’m a home cook. But my husband, who’s actually my assistant today, loves my baking. He said I should give it a shot. So here I am!”_

 

 

They already know the theme, of course. But they’re meant to act surprised, to gasp and act excited when the guest judges are introduced.

Logan’s heard Haven’s music before. Anyone who’s ever turned on a radio has heard Haven’s music before. He’s not a huge fan, really. But he’s done his research on them, too, tried to mentally file away as many useful facts as possible.

 

 

_“This is right up my alley. I’m a huge Haven fan,” the man grins, looking thrilled by the reveal, “I’m Julian Larson, owner of Hollywood Cakery. In Hollywood, of course. I’ve done cakes like this before, for movie premieres and album release parties. I know I can crush this.”_

 

 

The clock starts, and the four contestants rush to their stations. The first challenge is simple, as it always is — to create a music-inspired cake.

Logan can’t help but grin, as he gathers up his ingredients.

“I’m a bit of a musician myself,” he says, measuring out his flour and sugar, “So I’m working with what I know - my cake is a chocolate and salted caramel. I’m gonna make a tiered cake, but with this kind of slant of the keys of a piano, to shake things up a bit.”

He sets to work, does his best to ignore the chattering of the other contestants as he constructs his cake.

 

 

“ _I’ve brought my best friend, Derek, as my assistant,” Logan says to the camera, “He’s not exactly a baker himself, but he’s even more of a perfectionist than me, so I know he’ll help me make the best cake possible._ ”

 

 

“Whatchya making, Wright?” Julian asks loudly, grinning as he mixes up his ingredients, “Looks kinda boring.”

“At least mine’s in the oven,” Logan snaps, starting on shaping his molding chocolate into music notes, “You know we’re on a _timer_ , right?”

Julian laughs, “Don’t you worry about me. I can handle this."

 

 

_“I brought Isabel Montero,” Julian tells the camera, “She works at the bakery with me, and she’s absolutely amazing. I’m pretty sure she could win this thing herself, actually.”_

_He glances off camera, laughing at something said to him._

_“She says she could. Hopefully she can help me win, too.”_

 

 

The judges start to roam around, as Logan knew they would. He’s not looking forward to this part, if he’s honest — he’s always hated the idea of the judges bothering the bakers as they work. It’s a delicate task, and they don’t need the distraction.

But he listens, as they ask the other contestants what they’re making. Merril’s made an interesting choice, is working on a lemon-lavender cake with a similar concept to Logan’s own. That puts him on edge, a bit, but he’s confident in his ability to pull off his own idea.

 

 

“ _My husband, Spencer, is my partner today,” Merril says, “He’s an artist, so he’s pretty fantastic at the decorating part. I just really hope we can pull this off. I’ve never made cakes this extravagant before, and I’m a little worried it’s out of my skill set.”_

 

 

The judges move to Julian, next, who continues his own fondant work as he explains the concept behind his coffee cake. Logan’s pretty sure that’s the batter he’s been smelling, and he’s a little worried about how delicious the scent of coffee in the air is.

Sebastian’s next, sounding a little smug as he talks to the judges. He’s working on a creme brûlée-inspired cake, and the judges sound impressed as they watch what he’s doing.

 

 

_“I don’t really need an assistant,” Sebastian says, “But I brought my little brother. He’s pretty excited to be on tv.”_

 

 

When the judges move Logan’s way, they seem a little concerned about his plan to build a tiered cake. He knows it’s risky, that it’s a bit simplistic for a show like this. But he has such a perfect concept about what it’ll look like complete, and he knows he can do it.

He manages his time well, is putting the final decorations on his cake well before time runs out.

In the end, he presents the judges with a gorgeous piano cake, the keys winding up and around the tiers of his salted caramel cake.

And the judges love it. They praise his flavors, his choice of decoration.

He does get critiques, of course — that his flavors aren’t quite strong enough, that his salted caramel should have been saltier. He nods, takes them all into account, feeling overall pretty positive about his chances in this round.

Merril’s cake seems to be the judge’s favorite flavor-wise. Julian’s creativity in making a record-player cake gets the most praise for the decorations. But the judges deem the lemon-lavender confection _uninspired_ , tell Julian that his coffee cake was a little too sweet.

Sebastian’s last, and he sounds confident in himself as he explains his own cake. The cake is gorgeous, decorated with shaped shards of hardened sugar. But it doesn’t quite hit the theme as much as the judges hoped, and his smug smile fades when Clark Sawyer asks if the cake was _supposed_ to be chunky.

 

 

“ _I can’t believe I got eliminated,” Sebastian says, blinking at the camera, “Everyone else played it safe. I took a risk, and I guess it didn’t work out the way I wanted. I should’ve won this_.”

 

 

Logan lets out a breath, when Sebastian’s name is called. Merril looks so relieved, brings her hands to her face to muffle a delighted little giggle. Julian just grins, looking pleased as they hear the guidelines for their final challenge.

“As I’m sure you know, Haven’s about to release their next album. They’re throwing a massive release party, and one of you,” Jonathan Bennet pauses for effect, and Logan knows the camera is panning over their faces, “Will have you cake as the centerpiece. Haven is well known for going all-out in their performances, and your cake should do the same. You have three hours to create something that represents the band _and_ impresses our judges. Go!”

They run back to their stations.

 

 

_“They liked my flavors, in the last round,” Merril says, “But my lemon-lavender is my best cake, and I’m a little worried that I didn’t save the best for last.”_

 

 

Logan’s moving a little frantically, as he tells Derek what his plans for the cake are. He’s focused, intense.

Until he hears Julian at the station beside him, loudly singing one of Haven’s top hits.

 

 

 _“They loved my record player in round one,” Julian says, “But this time it’s gotta be all about Haven. I’m going to create a cake that shows off every instrument in the band, topped with a drum set made out of cake. Each instrument will be a different flavor, tailored to each member of the band. It’s gonna be fucking sick_.”

 

 

“Would you shut up?” Logan growls, glaring at Julian as he grabs his mixing bowl.

“Aw, am I distracting you?” Julian grins, “Good.”

“What, you need to distract your competitors to feel like you have a shot at winning?”

Derek snorts, and Logan notices Julian’s assistant hiding back a smirk as well.

“Play nice, boys,” Merril calls out, sliding her cake pans into the oven.”

“But he makes it so _easy_ ,” Julian retorts, “Acts all tough, but he’s really a softie, aren’t you Wright?”

 

 

 _“Yes, my father_ is _John Wright,” Logan says, sighing, “Owner of_ Wright’s _. Three Michelin stars. I was supposed to take it over one day. But baking’s what I’m good at. Hopefully if I win this I can open up my own place. Prove I can do this on my own. That I don’t need my name to get me somewhere_.”

 

 

His concept is risky, and he knows it. He’s not really going the music route — he can see Merril and Julian intently sculpting musical instruments, knows he needs to do something a little different.

So Logan’s choosing to focus on the actual members of the band, on the facts he’s filed away from his Wikipedia research.

Sinclair’s Twitter account is full of excited tweets about Marvel movies, of references to video games and comic books. So his lawyer is plastered with different superhero symbols, with subtle references to Final Fantasy and Zelda that he hopes will be understood.

For Raven’s layer, Logan is basing his decorations off the singer’s famous hair. His layer is decorated with a pitch black mirror glaze, sprinkled with silvery glitter that look like stars. Once that’s dry, he slips in a bright red streak, reminiscent of the man’s dyed hair.

Logan’s research had turned up dozens of pictures of Corey in rather eccentric costumes. He dresses almost as if he’s straight out of Victorian times, so Logan carefully sculpts a dark fedora, adds in a sparkly cane for a bit of extra oomph.

Mikey’s layer is the more difficult one to come up with. He’s quieter than the other members, doesn’t quite share as much of his life online. But Logan had found several photos of the man’s pet turtle, and does his best to recreate the animal from his cake.

Clark’s layer might be the riskiest of all. He’s talked a few times in interviews, about losing his father at such a young age. This layer of cake is a simple square, covered in Army-fatigue-print fondant. He sets Derek to work on sculpting a set of dog tags, complete with Clark’s father’s name carefully carved into them.

 

 

_“So I’m feeling pretty good about my cake,” Julian says, staring just past the camera, “I thought I was going a little out of the box, you know? Everyone knows Haven eats pizza like crazy. They’ve all said it’s their favorite food. So I thought, you know, a pizza flavored cake? With candied pepperoni? Crazy, but totally something they’d love.”_

_He laughs a little, shaking his head._

_“Then I look over and see Logan’s cake…I’m gonna lose.”_

 

 

“Holy shit,” Julian murmurs, and Logan glances up just long enough to see he’s looking at _him_.

“Problem, Larson?”

“Holy _shit_ ,” Julian repeats, and Logan smirks.

 

 

_Merril stares at the camera, open-mouthed. She takes a breath, starts to make a sound. Then cuts herself off, shaking her head._

 

 

“Oh my god,” Merril whispers, and Logan knows she’s looking his way too, “He…that’s…oh my god.”

Well. Seems like he’s got the other contestants scared, at least.

Here’s hoping the judges are impressed, too.

 

 

 _“I wasn’t really surprised, to be the one eliminated,” Merril shrugs, “Julian’s cake was this like, whole band? With flames made out of colored sugar, just like they perform with. And Logan made_ that _, and I just…they liked my cake. It just wasn’t as wow as the others were. But I’m happy with how I did here. I think I might try to open that bakery after all.”_

 _She smiles at the camera, looking genuinely happy with herself_.

 

 

“Both of your cakes were delicious and very well-presented,” Jonathan says, “Julian, the band _loved_ your pizza-flavored cake, and Logan, you brought tears to our eyes with your touching tribute to the band members. But only one of you will take your cake to their album release party this evening.”

He pauses, looking between the two contestants. Logan forgets how to breath.

He doesn’t really hear, when they announce the winner. But everyone’s looking at him, and Julian’s stepping forward to shake his hand.

“Congrats,” he says, quietly, “You deserved it.”

He’s _won_.

He’s actually proved he can do this, that he’s _good_ at baking. That he doesn’t need his father to make something of himself.

Derek’s rushing forward, pulling Logan into a big hug, and the judges are congratulating him.

“Thank you,” Clark Sawyer says, looking a little teary-eyed, “This is…not what we expected. But it’s perfect.”

“Dude, did you see the red though? My hair?” Raven pulls the others to the cake, all looking up at it in admiration.

It’s all a little overwhelming. He has to step aside, find a quiet corner of the room to let his win wash over him.

“You’re not celebrating?”

Logan turns, at the sound of Julian’s voice. He’s glancing over at him curiously, a little confused at whyLogan’s not in the thick of it all.

“I just…I can’t believe I did it,” he says honestly, and Julian grins.

“I can’t believe I made a fucking _pizza cake_ and still didn’t win,” he says, amused, “How fucking dare you pull something like _that_ out of nowhere.”

Logan shrugs, “I knew you two would both go the musical instrument route. Felt like I had to do something different.”

“Well that was definitely different.”

“So was pizza,” Logan tells him, “The candied pepperoni? You’re gonna have to teach me how you come up with shit like that.”

“Only if you give me the recipe for that cherry garcia filling.”

“It’s a deal.”

Julian tilts his head a little, smiling.

“You know,” he says, “If we did my cake with your decorations, it’d really be something else.”

“You saying you want to work together?”

“No Cake Wars contestants have ever teamed up before,” Julian says, “We could be unstoppable.”

Logan grins, “I’ll consider it.”

 

 

_“I’m here to defend my title,” Logan says, “I’ve won Cake Wars once. I’m gonna do it again. I have a new partner with me, this time. You’ll probably recognize him.”_

_Julian slides into the frame, grinning happily up at Logan._

_“This is Julian,” Logan says happily, “My business partner.”_

_“And boyfriend,” Julian chimes in, “That part’s important too.”_

_Logan laughs, “Yeah. That too. And we’re here to win.”_


	57. If Hell Night never happened

“I can’t believe we’re graduating,” Logan looks a little melancholy, cradling a contraband bottle of wine in his hands and leaning backwards against the foot of his bed.

“About fucking time,” Derek says, the only one of them who truly looks excited, “God, I can’t wait for college.”

“We _just finished_ finals,” Julian says, “You’re already looking forward to _more school_?”

“Some of us need actual, meaningful degrees to get our dream job, Jules.”

Julian makes a face, “Sounds like hell, honestly. I can’t wait to never have to turn in another term paper again.”

“I just can’t believe we’re _done_ ,” Logan says, “I’m going to Harvard, D’s going to Yale…who knows where the hell you’re gonna be a month from now.”

“L.A., for a while,” Julian tells him, “Finishing up the last season of _Something Damaged_. London for a bit after that. New York in the fall.”

“We might never see you again.”

“Please,” Derek rolls his eyes, “I’ve been trying to get rid of you two for four years. It’s not as easy as just graduating.”

“I mean it,” Logan continues, “I mean, we’ll have normal breaks. Summers. Christmas. Spring break. But Julian’s finally going to be able to work the crazy, jam-packed schedule he wants.”

Logan frowns over at Julian, “You barely text us back as it is, when you’re working. This could honestly be the last time we’re all together.”

Julian knows it’s an upsetting thought, for Logan. He doesn’t have that many close friends. He’s not a huge fan of meeting new people.

But for Julian, the idea means something else altogether.

They might never see each other again.

He can do whatever he wants.

 _Say_ whatever he wants.

And if it ends poorly, he can leave.

Forever.

He’d considered it before, back in junior year, when Logan’s short-lived infatuation with Kurt Hummel had seemed like the end of the world. He’d _actually_ left, packed up his things and hopped on a flight back to California the night of the Valentine’s Fair.

But then Logan had gotten into another explosive fight with his father, this time about his plans for the future. He’d tried to tell his father he was considering studying music, that he _might_ consider a career in something other than politics.

Johnny hadn’t reacted well.

Julian hadn’t meant to answer the call.

It had been his plan, after all — leave Dalton for good, pretend Logan didn’t exist until his ridiculous feelings went away.

But Logan had called while Julian was waiting to hear back about an audition, and he hadn’t thought to check the caller ID before he picked up.

“ _Why do you always do this_?” Logan had yelled, angry through the sound of his tears, “ _Why do you always fucking leave when I need you_?”

He’d heard back from the casting agents just minutes after the phone call.

But he’d turned them down, already halfway through packing his suitcase again.

Senior year hadn’t actually been half bad. Derek and Logan had been more stressed than usual, mailing in college applications and making sure their GPA’s stayed high enough for the Ivies. It helped, being that busy. Logan hadn’t had the time to develop any new crushes. Julian had actually _stayed_ , had done stupid high school things like the school play. He’d even joined the fucking _baseball team_ , and the other two had thoroughly embarrassed him by showing up to his first game in _Larson-Armstrong_ jerseys.

He almost can’t believe it, how much he’d enjoyed the last year.

But it’s over now, and Logan’s right — they might not all be together like this again.

He thinks about, that night. Goes to sleep wondering what he’d even say, if he decided to do it. How he’d tell him. If there’s even a _point_ to saying it all, if he wants to do this to himself.

After all, it’s a certainty he’s setting himself up for a heartbreaking rejection.

But there’s just the smallest part of him, the tiny, curious voice in the back of his mind, that wonders _what if_? That needs to know for sure, even if it’s bad.

Maybe it’s the only way he can finally move on.

He’s not sure why he does it _before_ the ceremony.

“Hey, Jules?” Logan knocks on the doorframe, pushes his way inside before Julian can answer, “Can you help with this stupid robe? I can’t get it to hang straight.”

Julian moves forward, slides his hands up the shiny silk of Logan’s graduation gown. He tugs at the hems, carefully evens it out across Logan’s shoulders. He doesn’t move away, when he’s done. He just _stands_ there, his hands lightly against Logan’s chest, his breath coming in a little unevenly.

“Julian?” Logan frowns, peering down at him, “Hey, everything okay?”

“I…” Julian’s voice cracks, a little, and Logan looks almost worried.

“Hey. It’s okay, you know. To be emotional. I know you weren’t a huge fan of high school, but it’s still a big change.”

“It’s not that,” Julian breathes. His eyes flick upwards.

It’s now or never.

Logan’s expression freezes, when Julian blurts out the words. He can’t really tell if Logan’s heard him or not. Maybe he didn’t actually say it out loud.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, “I…I don’t expect you to…I know that you don’t…but I think I had to say it. Just once, before this is all over.”

Logan’s still just _staring_ , his features twisting across his face. They finally settle, on something that almost looks like _horror_ , and Julian feels sick.

“…Lo?”

“I have to go,” Logan says suddenly, “I have to — I promised Michelle she could get some pictures, before the ceremony started.”

He spins around, twirls away from Julian and out of the room without a second glance.

Julian had been prepared for a rejection.

He had _known_ , going in, that he was about to get his heart broken.

But somehow this reaction is so much worse.

It’s not even a rejection, not really. It’s just…nothing. Logan had been so horrified, so disgusted, that he hadn’t even been able to muster up a response at all. He’d just _left_. Left Julian standing there, alone and foolish, in the middle of his room.

He can’t believe he did it.

He’s such a goddamn idiot.

He considers skipping the graduation ceremony entirely. It’d be easier. But Clark’s there, to see him and Reed graduate. Had brought Cameron along, with _Lacey_.

It’s too many people for Julian to disappoint.

Thankfully, their seating is done alphabetically. Julian’s quite a few rows ahead of Logan, makes damn sure to avoid looking back to the _W_ ’s as he takes his seat. He just needs to get through this.

He’s suffered worse.

He tunes out the speeches. Derek’s valedictorian speech gets laughs, applause, but Julian doesn’t hear a word. Not even when they’re calling his name. Jeff Lowry has to gently push him from behind, whisper for him to _get up there and graduate._ Julian takes his diploma in a daze, crosses the stage without smiling for the photos Clark and Cameron are no doubt taking.

He hears Logan’s name called. But he doesn’t look up. He can’t. Can’t stomach the idea of staring up at the boy who’d broken his heart.

Afterwards, he tries to escape the ceremony unnoticed. But of course, Clark has to pull him into a hug. Cameron and Lacey hand him bouquets of flowers, Lacey bouncing up happily and congratulating him on graduating from _Hogwarts_.

Then, his worst nightmare.

Michelle Wright’s fingers wind around his wrist, “Oh darling, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I need to get a photo of the three of you together!”

She tugs him over, where Logan and Derek are standing together, pushes him forward. He stumbles, his shoulder bumping against Logan’s chest. Logan’s hands come up on autopilot, steadying Julian before he can knock them both over.

But Julian pulls away like he’s been burned, tries to stand at an angle where Michelle can get her picture without him having to touch Logan. She makes an irritated sound, calls out for them to _scoot closer, boys, like you’re friends!_

Logan’s arm winds around Julian’s shoulders.

He knows it’s just for the photo. He’s probably got his other arm around Derek, on his other side. But it _hurts_ , Logan’s hand on him, and Julian needs this to be over so desperately.

He’s sure his smile doesn’t look genuine. He can’t muster one up, no matter how hard he tries. But Michelle’s lowering her phone, and Julian ducks into the crowd before anyone can stop him.

His flight isn’t until morning. No matter how hard he looks, he can’t find one earlier. Can’t find one that’ll let him leave _now_. He almost considers begging the Brightmans for use of their jet, but they’d ask him questions he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t know what to _do_ , once he’s thrown all his things in a suitcase.

When Logan finds him, he’s halfway into a bottle of gin he’d found hidden beneath the couch cushions in the Stuart common room.

“Hey,” he says, carefully sitting beside Julian, “I, um…I talked to Derek.”

Julian says nothing. He brings the bottle to his lips, tries not to wince as the harsh liquid hits his tongue.

“I told him what you said,” Logan continues, “He told me already knew.”

Julian’s really not sure what Logan expects him to say right now.

“He said he _has_ known,” Logan says, “For over a year. That apparently this is something you’ve been hiding for _four_ years.”

He looks over at Julian, makes a sound of frustration when he brings the bottle to his mouth again. Logan reaches for it, tugs it from Julian’s grasp and slams it down beside him.

“Will you _talk_ to me?” He snaps, “You can’t just spring something like that on me and then shut down like this.”

“There’s nothing left to say. You made things pretty clear when you walked out.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” Logan’s voice is a little strained, “You just…I never thought you’d…I didn’t know, Jules.”

“You could just keep pretending you don’t know, if it makes things easier,” Julian offers, not meeting his eyes, “I won’t bring it up again. Like you said, you never have to see me again, anyway.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But it’s true,” Julian tilts his head to look over at him. The movement is more difficult than it should be, his neck swinging to the side loosely, “You never have to think about me again.”

Logan stares at him, “That’s not what I want.”

He looks so solemn, looking down at him. Julian can’t handle it.

“Can I have my drink back?”

Logan sighs, glancing down at the half-empty bottle, “Was this full when you found it?”

“Uh-huh.”

He shakes his head, gathers the bottle up in one hand and stands up.

“You’re clearly too trashed to talk about this,” he says, “Sleep it off, alright? I’ll be back in the morning.”

He leaves, the bottle of gin in hand.

Julian makes damn sure he’s gone well before Logan can come back. He barely sleeps, leaves for the airport hours early, still a little drunk from the night before.

He changes his number.

Deletes his private Facebook.

Makes a new e-mail address.

He’s starting over, just the way he’d promised himself to do just over a year ago.

He might be underestimating Logan, just a little bit.

It takes some time. A few weeks pass, and Julian’s finally starting to feel like he can breathe again.

He finishes the last season of _Something Damaged_ , drives himself home from the final day of filming. He doesn’t see the figure sitting on his doorstep until he’s halfway up the walkway.

Logan’s staring straight at him.

He looks _angry_.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_ run off on me now,” he says, when Julian takes a step backwards, “Do you have any _idea_ — I called for weeks. Sent a thousand text messages. The person who got your old number was very happy to find out she had _Julian Larson’s_ last phone number, by the way.”

“You know I change it every few months,” Julian says, frozen in place, “When it gets leaked, you know.”

“I also know,” Logan pushes himself to his feet, crosses the few feet still separating them, “That you always text Derek and I _before_ you change it, so we know.”

“I didn’t think you’d care. We’re not in high school anymore.”

“For fuck’s sake, Julian!” Logan shouts, “You don’t get to just _decide_ that we’re not friends anymore! You don’t get to just walk out on us!”

“You walked out on me, first.”

That makes Logan take a beat, “I…I didn’t know what to say, Julian.”

“So you said nothing. You just walked away. I got the message pretty clear.”

“You dropped an absolute bombshell on me, Jules,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief, “I mean, imagine if Derek had just said that to _you_ out of the blue.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Derek’s straight.”

“Exactly.”

Logan moves forward, one hand coming up to grip Julian’s arm. Julian makes a weak attempt to pull away, but Logan holds fast.

“I had to process it,” he says, “It was…it was a _lot_ , Julian. Maybe I should have said something right away. I definitely shouldn’t have just walked out on you like that. But I needed to think. You deserve that much.”

“So you’ve thought about it, then?” Julian asks, hating how his voice trembles, “You _considered_ it, and now you’re here to tell me that you could never love me?”

Logan blinks, “You know, for someone with such a huge ego, you’re ridiculously insecure.”

“I’m realistic.”

“So you don’t want this, then? You want to just leave forever, never speak to me again?”

It’s exactly what Julian wants.

What he thought he wanted, at least.

He doesn’t feel the tears coming. Not until they’re spilling from his eyes, until Logan’s looking at him, concerned, as Julian trembles before him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, stepping forward and gathering in his arms, “Shit, Jules, I didn’t mean to…please don’t cry…”

“I don’t,” Julian gasps, his tears staining Logan’s shirt, “I don’t want to never see you again.”

“Then why did you _leave_?”

“Because I didn’t know how to be around you,” Julian says, “I didn’t know how to look at you knowing you _knew_ , knowing you didn’t feel the same.”

There’s a pause, before Logan speaks again, “How are you so sure I don’t?”

Julian scoffs, “Please, Logan. I know you.”

“Not well enough, apparently.”

He moves, pushes Julian away until he can look down down at him. His gaze is soft, somehow, his thumbs gently stroking Julian’s arms.

“I didn’t know myself,” he says, “Not until you…it was confusing, at first. It took me some time. But then it all made sense.”

Julian wipes at his face, hating how Logan can make him like this, how he makes him so  _weak_ , “What made sense?”

“Everything,” Logan _smiles_ at him, brings one hand up to cup Julian’s cheek, “It’s like it all clicked into place at once. Like I finally _saw_ , you know? What I’d been missing all along?”

“And what’s that?”

“You.”

Julian’s breath catches. He can’t have heard right. He must’ve imagined it, must’ve lost his mind somehow throughout this conversation.

But then Logan’s leaning in, closing his eyes and _kissing_ him.

The thing is, Julian had been _so sure_. So convinced Logan would never want him back. So absolutely positive that he’d never get to have this. He _knows_ Logan, knows he’s not what Logan wants.

But he also knows Logan isn’t cruel.

Logan wouldn’t lie to him about this, wouldn’t kiss him like this if he didn’t mean it.

He doesn’t understand.

But he also doesn’t want it to end.

He leans into it, lets himself wind his arms around Logan’s neck and kiss him _back_.

It’s so much better than he ever could have imagined. It’s like his body floods with warmth, like everything finally settles into place.

Logan breaks the kiss first, but he doesn’t pull away. He presses their foreheads together, strokes Julian’s cheek with his thumb as he stares down at him.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready for this, right away,” he says softly, “If you don’t want to just dive right in. But don’t you dare run away from me again. Please.”

He’s terrified.

So helplessly scared that this will all go to shit. That he won’t be what Logan wants.

But for the first time, he’s also a little hopeful.

He takes a shaky breath, nods.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and Logan smiles, “I swear.”


	58. They're literally cats

It had taken some time for Logan to find himself a suitable human. There had been quite a few prospects over the years, various people cooing over him and scratching his ears. But there’d always been something about them he didn’t like — they were too energetic, or they pulled at his tail, or they didn’t have quite the right touch when they scratched his ears.

But then _he’d_ come in.

“I’m really more of a dog person,” the man had said, and Logan had wrinkled his nose in disgust. But then the man had peered through Logan’s window, and he’d looked nice enough. Calm, he seemed, strong enough that he’d be able to comfortably carry Logan around.

It was a prime complaint, around here, that Logan was too _big_ , not at all sweet and delicate like the kittens that seemed so popular.

But the man had scooped him up, his fingers stroking over Logan’s snowy-white fur, and Logan had purred despite himself. Before he knew it, he was being taken from his window, carted out in a plastic crate to the man’s car.

Training his human had been a whole other beast.

At first, the human had the _audacity_ to feed him dry food.

From a _box_.

Logan had refused to eat it.

His human had seemed annoyed, when Logan swatted the food away with one paw and howled. He’d half expected to be taken back to his window, deemed _too difficult_ by this human.

But then the human had left _alone_ , returned some time later with a plastic bag that smelled promising. There’d been a loud, grating noise that had Logan scurrying under the sofa, and then the human had placed a dish on the kitchen floor.

Logan had stepped out cautiously, his nose twitching in the air. He’d touched his tongue to the food in the dish tentatively. It wasn’t _bad,_ exactly — moist and easy to chew, with more flavor than the earlier food.

It’s tolerable.

His human looks pleased, when Logan finishes the food.

There’d been a few more hiccups, in his human’s training. At first, he’d seemed to expect that Logan would sleep on some kind of flat, shapeless cushion. On the _floor_. But after just a few days, Logan had trained his human to allowing him the center of the bed, in the softest pile of blankets. He liked the warmth given off by his human’s body, liked not having to travel too far to alert his human when he got hungry.

All in all, his human is about as good as he can hope for.

Logan has a comfortable life. His human leaves him alone for the most part, just as he likes it. But when he’s in the mood for ear scratches, all he has to do his howl at his human’s feet, and he’s instantly scooped up. He gets better food, too, fresh tasting treats and delicious morsels that have him purring loudly.

The only issue he has with his human is that _he_ has a human, too. A woman, with dark hair, who spends more time in Logan’s home than he’d prefer. She’s nice enough, he supposes, scratching at his ears when he finishes his meals. His human seems happier, with her around.

But there’s something about her _smell_.

It’s not bad, he thinks. It’s just…off. Logan can’t quite decide if he likes it or hates it, can’t quite place what that smell is.

Until his human starts to cart several heavy boxes into the house. The smell gets stronger and stronger, and he finally places it when his human’s human walks in, something held in her arms.

Logan hisses at the newcomer.

“Come on, Lo,” his human says sternly, setting down the box in his arms, “You’re gonna have to be nice, okay? Casey and Jules are going to be staying with us now.”

“He’s not going to hurt my baby, is he?” Casey asks, holding the brown-furred cat a little closer, “Because I swear, Derek, if he does anything…”

“It’ll be fine. Lo loves other cats, don’t you buddy?”

Casey looks a little unsure, but she sets her own cat down. He stretches out, once on the floor, tilts his head curiously at Logan.

“ _Hello,”_ he says, _“Is this my home now_?”

“ _No_ ,” Logan howls, “ _This is_ my _home. Go away._ ”

“ _But I like it, I think. It’s big. It smells nice_.”

He steps around the room, his eyes bright as he takes in his surroundings. He moves into a spot of bright sunlight, flops onto his side.

“ _No_ ,” he says, much to Logan’s dismay, “ _I think I’ll stay_.”

“You see?” Derek says, reaching down to pet Logan’s ears, “They like each other.”

It’s fine, Logan decides. He’ll just let this other cat know that the house is _his_. He can keep the sunny spot by the window, always a little too warm for Logan’s taste, but everything else is _his_.

If only he could get the humans on board.

They spend most of the day carrying in boxes, unpacking things and bringing all sorts of new things into Logan’s home. Some of them are nice — there’s a thick knit blanket that gets thrown over the couch, and it feels so nice when Logan rubs against it. But none of the nice things make up for the newcomer following him around.

“ _I’m Julian. Are you Derek’s kitten_?”

Logan bristles, _“I haven’t been a_ kitten _for a long time. And he’s_ my _human, thank you.”_

 _“I like him,”_ Julian says, _“He always brings me treats._ ”

Logan can’t believe this.

His human has been bringing treats to other cats? After all the effort he’d put in training his human, _another_ cat had benefited?

Then dinner time rolls around.

He watches as his human prepares his food, feeling a little smug when the dish gets set in front of him. But then Julian’s wrinkling his nose, backing away from Logan’s dinner.

“ _What is that?”_ He asks, sounding disgusted, “ _Did it just move_?”

“ _It’s my dinner,_ ” Logan responds, a bit insulted, “ _It’s much better than regular cat food._ ”

“ _Mine looks better than that_.”

“ _Oh really? Where is it?”_

“ _My human has to make it, first_.”

Logan winces as a piercing sound — so much worse that the sound the machine makes when his human opens his food cans — rings through the air. He yowls loudly, scurries to his human and hides behind his legs.

“Aw buddy, it’s okay, it’s just a blender,” he says helpfully, dropping to his knees to pet Logan’s fur until the sound stops, “Turns out you’re not the most spoiled cat in the world, after all.”

“I can’t just feed him _regular_ food,” Casey argues, tipping the contents of the noisy death machine onto a dish, “He has a delicate digestive system.”

“Please, the food I buy is perfectly fine.”

Casey glares — at _his human!_ — and sets the dish down beside Logan’s. Julian happily trots forward, his bright pink tongue darting out to lap up the food. Logan creeps forward, oddly intrigued by the smell of the food. It smells absolutely delightful, and looks so much nicer than the canned foods Logan’s gotten used to.

He glances up as Logan approaches, “ _Do you want a bite? It’s much better than that slop your human feeds you_.”

“ _It can’t be that good_ ,” Logan says, even as he sneaks closer. He leans down, takes the smallest bite.

It’s amazing.

He can taste something pleasantly fish-like, something that might be chicken, something _sweet_? Taken all together, it’s the most delicious thing Logan’s ever tasted. He steps forward for more, only to be pulled away while Derek tuts at him.

“Come on, now,” his human says, pushing him towards his now-disappointing plate of wet slop, “We’ve been working off your Fancy Feast for months, don’t get too particular on me now.”

Julian happily polishes off his plate.

Logan howls.

“Thanks, Case,” his human mutters, “Now _he’s_ a spoiled brat, too.”

It all comes to a head at bedtime.

Casey’s spent the night before. Logan’s used to that. There’s always an odd period of time, when the two humans close the bedroom door and refuse to let him in no matter how loud he yowls. But the’ll always ultimately step out to grab in, to let him hop up on the bed and curl up between them.

Tonight, though, Julian joins him at the door. He doesn’t howl and meow like Logan does, doesn’t scratch at the door impatiently waiting to be let in. Instead, he curls up in a ball on the carpet just outside, resting his head on his front paws.

“ _It’s no use_ ,” he says, watching as Logan makes his presence known, “ _They won’t open it until they’re done_.”

“ _I’m tired,_ ” Logan retorts, “ _I want to go to sleep_.”

“ _So sleep here_ ,” Julian suggests, “ _The carpet is comfy._ ”

“ _I want my bed_.”

Julian looks unbothered, just watches through slightly cracked eyes as Logan tries his best to climb up to the doorknob. He doesn’t seem to care that the humans have locked themselves away, left the two of them stranded in the hall.

He does, however, leap up to his feet when the door finally opens, rubs himself up against Derek’s ankles and purrs loudly.

“Alright,” Derek says, sounding a little nervous as he picks Logan up, “Let’s see how this goes.”

Logan’s not quite sure what he means, at first. Not until he’s set down on the bed and finds _Julian_ curled in the very center.

In _his spot_.

It’s more than Logan can possibly be expected to handle.

He howls louder than he ever has before, launching himself at Julian. The humans shout something, but Logan can’t focus on them right now. He and Julian go tumbling off the mattress in a windmill of fur, and Logan can feel the sharp pierce of Julian’s claws in his skin.

“ _What the fuck?!”_ Julian screeches, as if he doesn’t understand what he’s done, _“What is_ wrong _with you?”_

“ _This is my house!”_ Logan yells at him, as he wrestles with the unwelcome newcomer, “ _You came into_ my _house and stole_ my _human and_ my _bed!”_

“ _I’m not stealing your human!_ Casey’s _my human!”_

Logan bares his teeth, preparing to dig them into Julian’s neck. But then he’s being yanked away, Derek’s hands too tight around his middle, Casey scooping Julian up into her lap.

“For fuck’s sake, guys, no fighting!” Derek scolds, “You’re friends now, whether you like it or not.”

“I told you Logan would try to hurt him,” Casey brings Julian close, one hand gently stroking over his fur, “Look at my poor angel, I’m so sorry the mean kitty hurt you.”

Julian turns to Logan, looking quite haughty, “ _You’re a mean kitty_.”

 _“You’re a fucking bitch_.”

Logan expects Derek to stand up for him. His human _always_ stands up for him. But then he’s being carried outside, tossed rather unceremoniously onto an armchair in the living room.

“Until you learn to behave,” his human says, before heading back into the bedroom and shutting the door.

Logan howls until his voice gives out, but the door never opens.

He doesn’t understand how it happens, but Logan’s suddenly no longer the most important member of the household. He gets _yelled_ at, gets the less appetizing meals, gets banned from his bed.

Julian, though, gets treated like royalty.

It’s starting to get just a little chilly in the air, and Casey knits Julian a thick, soft-looking sweater.

 _“You look ridiculous_ ,” Logan says, when he sees Julian wearing it.

“ _You look unloved_ ,” Julian retorts.

One of Casey’s many boxes, it turns out, is filled _entirely_ with toys for Julian.

Logan has his own, of course — a feather on a long stick that he just can’t seem to catch, a toy with a bell he still hasn’t managed to fully dissect, a strange red dot of light he doesn’t understand. But Julian’s toys seem endless, all kinds of squishy things that he plays with happily. Casey sets out a soft, plush cushion by the window Julian’s claimed as his own, perfectly placed in the ray of sunlight he so often naps in. He’s _always_ allowed to sleep in the bed, whereas Logan’s lucky if he gets two nights in a row cuddled up on his blankets.

He even gets _hand-fed_.

“It’s the only way I can get him to take his medicine,” Casey explains, when Derek asks why she’s letting Julian eat out of her palm.

 _“What do you take medicine for?”_ Logan asks, curious.

Julian shrugs, “ _I have anxiety_.”

“How does he have anxiety?” Derek asks, frowning down at the medicine bottle, _“_ He’s a _cat_.”

 _“How do you have anxiety_?” Logan asks, as Julian leans into Casey’s scratches, “ _You’re a cat_.”

Logan keeps hoping, praying, that eventually Julian will leave. That he and Casey will go back to their _own_ home. But it doesn’t seem like that’s going to happen. If anything, the two humans grow even _closer_.

When his human gives Julian’s human a shiny, sparkling ring, Julian turns to him.

“ _Guess we’re stuck together forever now_.”

Logan eventually learns how to get his way again. If he refrains from fighting with Julian, he’s allowed to sleep in his bed again. Getting along with Julian _also_ seems to get him better food — once Casey decides he’s not going to hurt her “angel”, she starts making _two_ helpings of the delicious food, giving Logan his own small saucer. They come up with a pattern that works well enough. Logan finds the foot of the bed warmer anyway, while Julian prefers curling up in the warmest spot between the two humans.

Much to Logan’s dismay, he actually finds that he kind of _likes_ the other cat. He’s entitled, of course, spoiled beyond belief. But he knows how to get his way, sometimes using his tricks to get extra treats for Logan, as well.

In fact — and mostly when the humans are away — Logan and Julian almost _get along_.

“ _Scoot over_ ,” Julian asks one day, hopping onto the armchair Logan’s occupying, _“Make room for me_.”

“ _There’s a whole couch over there_ ,” Logan says, even as he’s shifting on the cushion.

 _“I like this spot better_.”

Casey seems delighted when sees the two cats curled up together. Derek just smiles, leans in to pat Logan on the head, “Good job, buddy.”

Some weeks after the house doubled in population, Logan lifts his head up to stare at Julian, nestled between the two still-sleeping humans.

 _“Hey_ ,” he says, waiting for Julian’s eyes to open, “ _I think I maybe don’t hate you_.”

Julian smiles, _“Good. I don’t hate you either._ ”

Logan stands, stretches out a little before plodding up the mattress and collapsing beside Julian. He tucks his head against the back of Julian’s neck, enjoying the pleasant warmth.

Julian purrs.

Logan can’t help purring, too.

It’s kind of nice, having someone around who can actually understand him. Who likes lounging around as much as he does. It’s nice having _company_ , when the humans leave for hours on end to do whatever it is that humans do all day. The humans seem to like the two getting along, smiling anytime they find Logan and Julian cuddled up in a pool of sunlight.

It works, somehow.

Maybe change isn’t so bad, after all.

Then, of course, comes the day the humans leave in a hurry. They forget to feed them, beforehand, and Julian takes to pacing around the house whining until Logan manages to knock a plate of half-finished eggs off the counter.

It’s odd, how long the humans are gone.

A girl stops by, one who _almost_ looks like the girl his human used to call _Panda_ , only not as little as Logan remembers. She stops to pet them, for a minute, gives them food before grabbing a bag and heading out again.

Then, _finally_ , they hear the familiar sound of their human’s voices at the door.

 _“They’re home!”_ Julian chirps excitedly, racing over to the front hallway, _“They’re finally home_!”

Logan’s quick to follow, trotting along and hovering beside Julian as the door swings open, and Casey and Derek walk in.

They both freeze.

There, held tight in a bundle of blankets in Casey’s arm, is an impossibly tiny human.

Well.

This won’t do at _all_.


	59. Heist

“Just walked in,” Logan murmurs, using his martini glass to cover the motion of his lips moving, “Alone. How quickly do you need me to move?”

“ _Take your time_ ,” Derek says, his voice clear through the tiny earpiece Logan’s wearing, “ _We’re not looking to make a scene tonight. We’re working on getting the security cameras now, and…ah, there we go. I see him_.”

Logan sets down his now-empty glass, fishes the olive out and pops it in his mouth. He can’t make himself too obvious here, hopes Derek’s got an eye on the target when he passes out of Logan’s field of view.

“ _Headed for the blackjack tables_ ,” Derek says, “ _Of course. The one game you’re shit at.”_

“I’m not _shit_ at it,” Logan mutters, tapping on his empty glass with two fingers. The bartender prompts sweeps it away, works on starting a new drink.

_“It’s like you can’t fucking count. Seventeen is a perfectly respectable hand to stop at when not a single face card has hit the table yet.”_

“God,” Logan growls, taking his second martini, “Would you get over it already?”

_“No can do. Get up. Someone just left the table. There’s a spot for you if you move fast.”_

Logan does. He rises from his seat, drops a folded hundred on the counter and scoops up his glass in one hand. He gives the dealer a nod as he joins the table, pointedly doesn’t turn to look at the other players around him. He wants to give off an air of aloofness, like he doesn’t care that his target is seated just inches away.

Of course, Clark Sawyer has no such need to go incognito.

He’s loud and boisterous, jokes around with the dealer and chats happily with the other players.

He’s also annoyingly good at the game.

He wins the first round with twenty-one exactly, grins widely as he leans over to sweep his winnings close. His shirt collar is undone a few buttons, and a necklace swings loose, the blue gem at the end shining in the light.

 _“Was that it_?” Derek whispers, sounding a little awestruck, “ _Is it as big as it looks in pictures?”_

Logan doesn’t answer, obviously. But it is just as impressive as promised. He’d never understood why a rock star would spend upwards of six million dollars on a _sapphire_ , but he can’t deny that it is beautiful. It’s a little absurd that he’s wearing it on a braided strand of leather around his neck in public, but Logan supposes rock stars are known for their eccentricities.

 _“You can’t take it here_ ,” Derek says, “ _Too many witnesses. Too many cameras.”_

Logan clears his throat, the closest he can manage to giving a confirmation. He knows not to be seen. He’s a professional, after all.

But Clark Sawyer doesn’t seem particularly inclined to leave the table. He actually _makes friends_ with the other players, even as they switch in and out.

“Got room for me?”

A well-dressed man approaches the table, and Logan doesn’t miss the way Clark’s eyes rove over him. He can’t exactly blame the man — the newcomer is gorgeous, all long limbs and dark eyes, and clad in a midnight blue velvet suit that would look ridiculous on the average man.

But this man is far from average.

He slips into a recently-vacated seat without waiting for permission, smoothly reaches over and snags Clark’s vodka soda. He smiles as he sips from it, successfully drawing the attention of every member of the table.

It’s the perfect distraction.

With Sawyer’s eyes otherwise occupied, Logan’s able to successfully snag the man’s wallet. He barely needs the facade of dropping a card, of leaning over to pick it up as he’s really reaching into Clark’s coat pocket hanging off the back of his chair. He only needs a moment — the RFID duplicator he’d brought with him is small enough to hide in the palm of his hand, the technology advanced enough that he only needs a few moments of contact.

Clark doesn’t even notice.

He loses the next round. Rather spectacularly, in fact.

“You didn’t _really_ ask for a hit at twenty, did you?” The newcomer taunts, pulling the tableful of chips his way, “You always sound so smart in interviews, Sawyer.”

“Guess I hit some bad luck.”

“For now.”

It’s perfect, really. The art of distraction is one skill Logan’s never fully managed to grasp, and this guy’s doing the brunt of the work for him.

 _“Don’t you lose focus too_ ,” Derek warns him, “ _I can see well enough to know this guy’s exactly your type. We’re on a job here.”_

Logan resists the urge to growl back at him. He _knows_ how to handle himself, despite Derek’s misgivings. Sure, the man is drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s got his eyes set on the ten million dollar payday they’ll get from this sapphire.

“And what’s _your_ name, handsome?” The man purrs, leaning close to Logan.

“John,” Logan says gruffly, trying to ignore the slide of the man’s hand up his arm.

“ _John_ ,” the man repeats, “Such a boring name for someone so handsome.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Well it looks like you’re not having very much luck tonight either, John. Let’s see if we can’t turn that around, shall we?”

He grins, holds up his — ahem, Clark’s — empty drink glass, and a server refills it almost immediately. It’s a little impressive, the pull he has over everyone surrounding them.

“So then,” Clark says, barely paying attention the the cards in his hands, “What’s your name, then?”

“Julian,” the man says with a bright smile, “But you can call me whatever you want, baby.”

 _“Get out of there, Lo_ ,” Derek urges, “ _You have the keycard. You just need to wait. There’s no reason to stay any longer.”_

Logan knows better.

If he leaves too quickly, he’ll look suspicious. He hasn’t lost too badly yet, should really win at least one sweeping hand before he makes an excuse to retire. After that, it’s a waiting game — sit tight, wait for Clark to retreat back to his rooms, slip inside while he’s asleep and snag the sapphire.

Easy.

He stares at the cards in front of him — a nine, a five, and a three, the same hand of seventeen Derek constantly mocks him over — and folds his hands over the table. He won’t make the same mistake again.

“Take another one,” Julian whispers, his eyes twinkling Logan’s way, “Trust me.”

Well. It’s not like this game matters much to him, anyway.

“Hit me,” he says, and the dealer slides one more card his way.

A four.

“Pot goes to you, blondie,” the dealer says, and Julian grins.

“Told you,” he says, and Logan wonders just briefly if this attractive newcomer counts cards the way Derek always had.

“Well,” Logan says, gathering up his winnings, “Don’t think I’ll push my luck any more than that. I’m calling it a night.”

Julian pouts, “Shame. Things were just starting to get fun.”

Logan doesn’t fold to the taunt. He leaves the table, his imitation key secure in his pocket. Time to wait.

He heads up to the room he’d reserved for himself, pours himself a glass of too-expensive scotch and watches the clock. Derek keeps him updated on the security feed, lets him now exactly when Clark leaves the table, the time he heads up to his room.

 _“He’s not alone_ ,” Derek says, sounding a little annoyed, “ _Prettyboy’s with him. Should’ve found a way to get him out of the way.”_

“You told me _not_ to fuck him,” Logan snaps back.

_“No, I told you not to get distracted by him. You could’ve still fucked him. God knows you need to loosen up a little.”_

“Just let me know when the guy leaves, alright?”

It takes _hours_. Logan turns to pacing around his hotel room, annoyed with his inability to do anything while they’re waiting. It’s overwhelmingly frustrating, and he considers barging in there anyway, using their clearly preoccupied state to snag the jewel.

“ _Now_ ,” Derek says, suddenly, “ _He’s leaving the room. Sawyer’s alone.”_

Logan slips out of his own room, Sawyer’s keycard hidden in the palm of his hand. He presses the button for the elevator, waits impatiently for it to arrive. The door slides open. Before Logan can step inside, Julian is stepping _out_ , a pleased sort of surprise on his face.

“Well,” he says, standing right between Logan and his way to the sapphire, “John, isn’t it? Thought you’d gone to bed hours ago.”

“I pulled out of the game,” Logan says, watching the elevator doors close again, “Doesn’t mean I was done for the night.”

“Well I guess it’s my lucky night, then. I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“Oh, were you?”

“ _Don’t fucking do it_ ,” Derek says, “ _You always take my advice at the worst possible moment. The sapphire, Lo._ ”

The thing is, Julian’s _just_ left Sawyer’s room. He may be asleep, but the chances of him being unconscious enough to sleep through Logan breaking into his room are pretty small. He should really give it some time. He may as well have fun waiting.

“So what did you have in mind, then?” He says, taking a step closer. Julian smirks up at him, slides his hand up Logan’s chest and rocks up on his toes.

“My room’s right behind you,” he murmurs.

“How convenient.”

“ _Don’t you dare fucking do it,”_ Derek snaps.

Logan pulls the earpiece from his ear, drops it in one of the large decorative plants lining the hallway as he follows Julian into his room. He pulls Logan forward by the end of his tie, presses their lips together so hard it almost _hurts_.

There’s a dozen voices screaming at him about all the ways in which this is a terrible decision — he doesn’t know Julian, he’s on a mission, Julian’s definitely just gotten back from Clark’s room and who _knows_ if they’d been safe.

But there’s also another, bigger part of him that wants this. Julian’s hot as hell, and Logan’s hormones might be going a little wild, and besides, _Derek_ always manages to find some girl to hook up with when he’s on missions like this.

It’s not like he has much time to second-guess this, anyway. Not when Julian’s pulling him onto the bed, when his legs are falling open, when he’s moaning so prettily…

Clark _must_ be asleep, by the time Logan leaves Julian’s room. He fishes his earpiece out from the plant he’d hidden in it, dusting it off before popping it back into place.

 _“Welcome back, ho,_ ” Derek says, sounding monumentally bored, _“Hope you enjoyed yourself._ ”

“I did, actually,” Logan says smugly, boarding the elevator, “Thank you for caring.”

“ _Well if you’re quite finished, we have a ten-million-dollar robbery to pull off_.”

“I got this, D. Chill.”

He heads down the hallway, finds Clark’s room — 519 — and slips the keycard from his pocket. He’s pretty secure in their technology, but he still feels a little smug when the light flashes green and the lock clicks open.

“I’m in,” he whispers, creeping into the room as quietly as he can. Clark had sprung for one of the larger suites, of course. He enters a living area first, illuminated by just the moonlight streaming in through the open curtains. He can hear the sound of steady snoring from a slightly ajar door to his left, and he smirks.

This is gonna be cake.

Ten minutes later, Logan hasn’t found _shit_.

He combs through the living area and adjoining bathroom, creeps around the bedroom. The sapphire isn’t on any dresser or nightstand, nor is it hanging around Clark’s now-bare chest.

“I can’t find it,” Logan hisses, “I’ve checked _everywhere_ , D, it’s not fucking here.”

“ _It has to be_ ,” Derek says, “ _He was wearing it when he went back to the room, he must’ve — oh shit_.”

“What? What’s oh shit?”

 _“Hang on._ ”

Logan sweeps his hand over the dresser once more, actually drops to his hands and knees to them under the bed. Clark’s still fast asleep above him, and Logan’s half-tempted to shake him awake and demand the necklace.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek blurts, “ _Fucking shit, you absolute fuckwad_.”

“What?” Logan hurries out of the bedroom, his voice just a bit too loud. Clark’s snore stutters a bit, but he doesn’t seem to wake up.

“ _You idiot,”_ Derek’s seething, now, “ _I checked the security footage. Look at your goddamn phone.”_

Logan pulls his cell from his pocket, taps on the notification from Derek. It’s a video — soundless, thank god — taken from the security feed. It shows Sawyer’s door opening, Julian walking out. It’s the same video Derek had likely been monitoring earlier, when he’d given Logan the all-clear notification.

Except then the video switches to a different angle, showing Julian from behind as he strolls down the hallway. His fingers uncurl behind his back, and Logan’s stomach sinks as a large blue jewel drops from his palm. He slides his hand into his coat pocket, tucking the sapphire neatly inside.

“Fuck!”

Logan sprints out of Clark’s suite, hurries down the hall and back to Julian’s floor. The door gives when he leans up against it, and he pushes his way through with absolutely zero plan.

It’s empty.

Logan can’t remember if there’d been anything in it before — he hadn’t exactly looked for a suitcase, and the only evidence that the room’s been lived in at all is the rumpled blankets covering the bed.

Julian’s gone.

With the sapphire.

“Don’t say it,” he growls, even as Derek’s _I told you so_ looms on his lips, “Don’t fucking say it.”

“ _Just had to get your dick touched, didn’t you_.”

Despite his failure to actually snag the sapphire, Logan’s still going to have to get as far away from this hotel as possible. He knows he’s been spotted on the security cameras, that someone will notice him swiping Clark’s wallet when he wakes up and reports his necklace as stolen.

He needs to escape, and fast.

“Get me a cab,” he mutters, hurrying back to the elevator, “Now. We’ll figure out another way to get the money, just get me the fuck out of here.”

“ _On it_.”

The loss of Clark Sawyer’s signature necklace is front page news for _weeks_ following the robbery. There’s a dozen different security firms involved in the hunt for the jewel, but nobody seems able to find a lead.

Derek contacts their prospective buyer, who hasn’t heard a thing about the missing sapphire. It’s a small circle, potential buyers for stolen gems, and it’s beyond bizarre that nobody’s made any sort of noise about purchasing a multi-million dollar item.

Logan tries to put the sapphire out of his mind.

It takes them months to find another high-value item worth their time.

“He looks tiny,” Logan says, eyeing the man he’s meant to lift from, “I’m pretty sure I could exhale too hard and he’d just fall over.”

“ _Clumsy, too_ ,” Derek says, “ _Should make it easy. Knock into him, offer to help him up, slip that brooch off his jacket before he realizes what’s happening_.”

Logan’s eyes narrow in on the large beetle affixed to Reed Van Kamp’s collar, the sizable ruby shimmering amongst the gold setting, “Security cameras, this time?”

“ _Not as many. Mostly focused on the art. Don’t think anybody’s really expecting one of the artists to be robbed of something he’s wearing_.”

“Perfect. Give me a little bit. Enough time for half the guests to get a bit tipsy. It’ll make me knocking him over a bit more realistic.”

“ _Take your time. No distractions this time._ ”

“None.”

Logan grabs a flute of champagne from a passing server, pretends to admire one of the artworks on display while keeping one eye on Van Kamp.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He hears suddenly, a few inches to his left.

“ _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ ,” Derek hisses.

Logan tries to maintain his composure, when he turns to look at Julian beside him. The man looks just the same as he had all those months ago — the same twinkle in his eye, the same pleased smirk on his lips.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He says, reaching to take Logan’s champagne glass from his hand.

Logan freezes, his eyes drawn to Julian’s wrist. It’s a beautiful watch he’s wearing, gleaming silver with a diamond-studded band. And between the diamonds, glittering in the light — sapphires.

“You cut them,” he breathes, “We were looking for the full stone, but you _cut_ it.”

“Of course I did,” Julian says, looking at Logan like he’s said something monumentally stupid, “Half the world was looking for Clark Sawyer’s sapphire. I couldn’t just sell the whole thing.”

“I had a buyer offering ten mil for that.”

“I had one for twelve,” Julian says, turning his wrist to admire the sapphires, “Enough that I could keep a few for myself. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“A little ostentatious for me,” Logan says bluntly, “I prefer something a little less in-your-face.”

Julian doesn’t look fazed, “What, don’t tell me you don’t keep a little prize from each target.”

“I don’t, actually. Too messy.”

“But pretty.”

“I don’t care about pretty.”

“You seemed to care about _me_.”

Logan spins toward him, grabs his sapphire-clad wrist and narrows his eyes, “I did _not_ care about you.”

“Think you did, just a little.”

“I was horny, that’s all.”

“And you couldn’t have waited just a few more minutes?”

“What about _you_?” Logan says accusingly, “You already had it in your pocket, what exactly was the point in getting me to bed?”

“I wanted to.”

“You wanted to.”

“I did,” Julian smiles, brings his bejeweled hand up to Logan’s cheek and strokes at his skin, “I collect beautiful things.”

“ _Don’t you dare fall for a line that cheesy, Wright_.”

“So that’s what I was? A pretty, shiny thing for you to collect?”

“Maybe,” Julian grins, glances off to the side, “Just like that pretty little pin on Reed Van Kamp’s jacket.”

“No,” Logan says firmly, “That one’s mine.”

“Is it?” Julian tilts his head, “Well. I’ll race you.”

He presses the now-empty champagne glass back into Logan’s hand and twirls off into the crowd, the ghost of his smile seared into Logan’s brain.

“…Derek?”

“ _Don’t you dare let him take this one_.”

“I won’t,” Logan says, staring off after him, “But uh…would you judge me if I said I might be just a little bit in love with this guy?”

“ _Yes. Absolutely judging_. _Go get the fucking ruby_.”

“I will. But you mind running a search for him? I’d really like to see him again.”

“ _Already on it, you absolute horndog._ ”

“Good,” Logan grins, turns back to eye the ruby glinting across the room.

For now, he’s got a job to finish.


	60. If Julian had kept the concert tickets

Blaine Anderson is an _idiot_.

Julian listens to Logan complain, makes a face when Logan says the curly-haired transfer student _still_ hasn’t showed any inclination to go out with him.

It’s absolutely ridiculous, that someone could have the undivided attention of _Logan Wright_ and not appreciate it.

“Should I try another song?” Logan’s asking, “I mean, maybe I should…you guys are good at this kind of thing, what should I do?”

“You could give up?” Derek offers, looking bored with his face buried in his palm, “I mean, come on, is this guy even worth the effort?”

“Well you’re no help,” Logan snaps, “Jules, what do I do?”

A half-dozen suggestions run through his mind — _just talk to him, tell him how you feel; another song sounds great, a more romantic one this time; get him reservations to that new restaurant downtown_ — but they all make him feel vaguely ill.

Despite his effort to push the feelings deep down inside of him until they disappear, he doesn’t _want_ Logan to go out with Blaine Anderson. He doesn’t want Logan to go out with _anyone_.

Except for him.

He hesitates, Logan’s expectant eyes on him. He’s about to do something monumentally stupid, he knows, something bound to end in his heart getting ripped from his chest.

“Forget about him for a night,” he blurts out, and Logan frowns in confusion, “Maybe you’re trying too hard, you know?”

“Trying too hard?” Logan frowns, “I thought we’d evolved past the whole tradition of trying to play it cool?”

“I think you just need to relax, maybe? Decompress.”

“I’m not trying those new face masks with you. I told you, they make my skin feel itchy.”

“No, I mean…” Julian can feel his cheeks redden, turns away and rummages through his desk drawer to cover it up. His fingers wrap around the two tickets he’d bought months ago, the ones he’s been trying to work up the courage to offer for just as long, “I um…I got Taylor Swift tickets. If you wanted to go with me.”

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. They’ve gone to concerts before. It’s a totally normal invitation to extend to a friend.

“You got tickets?” Logan asks, taking them from Julian’s hand, “These sold out two minutes after they went on sale. I tried, we were in Algebra, I couldn’t…how did you get these?”

“I’m Julian Larson.”

Logan grins a little, staring down at the tickets, “And you want to bring me?”

“Well Derek doesn’t like her, so…”

“ _You_ try liking _Love Story_ when you’ve dated a girl who had it set as her text tone.”

“Anyway, I just thought…I don’t know, it could be fun.”

“Yeah,” Logan nods, “That does sound pretty great, actually. These seats are _insane_.”

He looks _happy_ , and Julian’s stomach actually un-twists a little. Maybe this won’t be such a disaster, after all. There’s the possibility, of course, that he’ll have to suffer through listening to Logan talk about _Blaine_ for a few hours,but he still feels almost giddy at spending a whole evening with Logan.

He absolutely _agonizes_ over his outfit. It’s stupid, to put this much thought into it — Logan’s seen him in his underwear, in ratty pajamas, in ridiculous pastel suits after photoshoots. He won’t _care_ what Julian’s wearing. He doesn’t put that much thought into Julian at all.

He settles for simple. His black Armani jeans are comfortable, but just form-fitting enough to be appropriate for this not-date. He pulls on a white v-neck over that, accessories it with a silver pendant on braided leather he’d snagged from the _Something Damaged_ wardrobe.

It’s a little plain, but he’s pleased with his reflection in the mirror.

Logan snorts when he comes to the door.

“Oh my god,” he says, his eyes twinkling, “we _match_.”

He’s wearing the same black Armani jeans, a very similar white shirt. His shirt hugs his arms a little better than Julian’s does, doesn’t quite dip so low down his chest.

He’s beautiful.

“I could change,” Julian offers.

“Nah,” Logan shakes his head, “I got a jacket, that’s different enough. You might want to grab one too, I know how cold you get.”

“And ruin this look?” Julian scoffs, “Not a chance.”

“I’m not letting you borrow mine when you start bitching.”

“I won’t bitch.”

“You’ll bitch.”

Julian rolls his eyes, snags the tickets from his dresser and pushes Logan over to the stairs. They pass Derek on the way out, who nods at Julian and gives Logan an odd look Julian doesn’t quite understand.

“What was that about?” Julian asks, as they step outside.

“Hm?”

“That face Derek gave you,” he explains, “Did you guys get in a fight or something?”

“Disagreement,” Logan says, waving it off, “Something stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want to talk about it…?”

“Nah,” Logan says, heading over to Julian’s Bentley, “But I _do_ want to pick the music on the way there.”

The drive to Columbus takes a little longer than it should — they hit a bit of traffic on the way, wind up stopped on the highway for a good half-hour while they wait for an accident to clear up.

“It’s not a big deal,” Logan says, when Julian apologizes for not leaving earlier, “She’s got two opening acts, and I don’t really know either of them that well. Besides, I want to play you something.”

Julian’s fingers tense on the steering wheel, “Something for Blaine?”

“No,” Logan says, scrolling through his iPod, “It’s actually something I heard on the radio the other day, maybe you’ve heard it?”

A song blasts through the speakers, and Julian groans.

“I hate you,” he says, even as Logan grins wildly over at him, “So goddamn much.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t _tell_ us,” Logan reaches over, swatting Julian on the arm, “My best friend drops a single and I don’t even hear about it until it hits the Top 40?”

“They messed it up,” Julian whines, “It didn’t have all this synth and auto-tune when I was in the studio. I don’t even _like_ this version.”

“It’s good,” Logan argues, “I mean, yeah, the autotune is a bit much. It’s not like you _need_ it, I’ve heard you sing.”

“Apparently it wasn’t _pop-y_ enough. They wanted it to be radio friendly.”

“I do like it. If acting doesn’t pan out you could do this.”

“Nah. I don’t have your stage presence.”

Logan doesn’t respond, for a moment. When Julian turns, he’s got an odd expression on his face — smiling, softly, looking almost _shy_.

“You think I have good stage presence?” He asks, and Julian turns back to face the now-moving traffic.

“Of course I do. There’s a reason you get picked for so many solos. You already knew you’re good.”

“Well yeah, for a high school choir,” Logan says, “But…I guess it just means more, coming from you. You know, someone who could probably fill up your own stadium if you put out a full album.”

Julian doesn’t really know what to say to that. Logan lets the song play out, switches back to his original playlist and sings along to some Owl City song Julian doesn’t know. Before too long, Julian’s pulling into the parking lot of the area, swinging his car into the closest space.

Of course, he can’t really just walk into the concert like a normal person. They’re ushered in the back way by burly guards, and Logan looks mildly impressed as they’re escorted to their seats.

“Perks of being a celebrity, hm?”

“Please, like you don’t get special treatment for being Washington royalty.”

Logan grins, jostles Julian’s shoulder with his own.

He doesn’t move away.

They stand like that for most of the concert, their arms pressed up against each other. Julian tries to convince himself it doesn’t mean anything, that it’s too crowded, that Logan _has_ to stand that close to him to avoid running into strangers.

It still sends butterflies swooping through his stomach.

“I _love_ this song,” Logan says into Julian’s ear, his lips almost brushing over his skin.

It makes Julian shiver.

“I knew it,” Logan says, accusingly, “I _knew_ you’d get cold.”

“I’m not — ” Julian starts, but Logan’s already moving. He shrugs out of his own jacket, holds it up to Julian. When Julian hesitates, he rolls his eyes, reaches around him and drapes it over his shoulders.

“Put it on, you idiot,” he says, “You’re a pain in the ass to deal with when you’re sick.”

“You’re worse,” Julian retorts, pulling the collar up to hide his pink face.

It’s a good concert. Logan sings along to every song, and Julian can’t help but find his excitement contagious.

And then _that_ song starts.

He shouldn’t be this pathetic. Shouldn’t feel so emotional, shouldn’t relate so much to the lyrics.

_Can’t you see that I’m the one who understands you_

_Been here all along, so why can’t you see?_

_You belong with me_

He can hear Logan shouting along with the lyrics. Feels everyone around him jumping in time to the beat. He should be enjoying this. He loves this song.

But he suddenly feels like he’s about to throw up. He’s cold, despite Logan’s thick jacket hanging over his shoulders. He can taste the dinner he’d eaten hours ago, feels horribly like it’s about to make a reappearance.

Logan’s singing trails off, and he leans over, “Julian? Hey, are you okay?”

Julian shakes his head, doesn’t risk opening his mouth to respond.

“Is it too crowded, or something? Should we…here, I can make room.”

“No,” Julian manages, “I just…need air. I’ll be back.”

He pushes past Logan, makes his way through the crowd and hurries to the nearest set of double doors he can find.The cold air hurts his lungs, but it’s the only thing keeping him grounded right now.

He’s so _stupid_.

Why did he do this to himself?

Why had he thought he could handle this? A whole night with Logan, just the two of them, a night he’d so desperately wanted to be a date.

“Hey.”

Julian squeezes his eyes shut at the sound of Logan’s voice, tries to ignore the sound of approaching footsteps. He can tell Logan’s looking at him with concern, recognizes that tone of voice.

“Go back inside, Logan,” he says, “Concert’s almost over. You wouldn’t want to miss the encore.”

“I’ve heard all her songs already,” Logan says, “Kind of want to know what’s going on with my best friend, instead.”

“Nothing,” Julian mutters, rubbing at his temples, “Just…ate something, I think. I’m fine. Go back inside.”

He almost thinks Logan’s listened to him, with how quiet it is. But then he hears Logan let out a breath, feels him lean against the wall behind Julian.

“You want to tell me why you actually invited me to this concert?”

Julian can’t look at him, “I told you. Derek wouldn’t have wanted to go. I thought about giving them to you for Blaine, but I wanted — ”

“Forget about Blaine.”

It shouldn’t shock him as much as it does. But Julian looks upward, his eyes meeting Logan’s. The blonde is staring at him rather intensely, his face similar to the expression he makes when he’s trying to solve a particularly tricky math problem.

“See, I thought it was just a friendly thing, at first,” Logan continues, “But Derek had a different theory. It sounded crazy, at first, but now…I’m not so sure.”

Julian won’t ask. He _can’t_ ask. There’s no possible way Derek knows the truth, not when Julian’s worked so hard to hide it.

“Derek thought…” Logan huffs out a laugh, “This really does sound insane. But Derek thought maybe that this was supposed to be…that it was a date.”

“Derek needs to mind his own fucking business.”

“I told him he was wrong,” Logan says, “But he asked me to think about it. Told me not to talk about Blaine, that he thought it hurt your feelings.”

“I don’t care who you talk about,” Julian says, “If you really like him then…I don’t care.”

“But see, it kind of made sense. As crazy as it sounds, I _did_ think about it, and…maybe I’m totally off-base here, Julian, but it kind of feels like he might’ve been right.”

His hand finds Julian’s wrist, and Julian yanks away.

“Don’t.”

“Would you look at me? Please?”

He tugs at Julian’s arm again, makes an impatient noise when Julian doesn’t do as he asks. He props two fingers under Julian’s chin, tilts it up just a bit too harshly.

He knows Logan can see it the moment they lock eyes. He knows he’s not hiding it well, that he probably looks so goddamn _pathetic_ right now.

“Oh my god,” Logan breathes, as Julian’s heart sinks, “It’s true.”

Julian takes a step backwards, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I, um,” he stutters, “I can get you a cab back. I’m sure you don’t exactly want to be stuck in a car with me for another hour. Um. We don’t have to…talk about this, again. Could you please not tell Derek?”

“Julian.”

“I just…I don’t want him to feel sorry for me, you know? Because he’s just going to keep giving me that _look_ , you know, and I don’t need that.”

“Julian.”

“I’m sorry for ruining the concert. I should’ve just given you both tickets, you could’ve taken Bl — ”

“ _Julian_!” Logan shouts, firmly enough that it shuts him up, “God, would you just _stop_? You sound ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Julian says, “Turns out I’m not exactly great at handling rejection.”

“For someone who hates rejection, you sure do like to assume that’s what’s going on right now.”

Julian pauses, wordless. Something that most feels like _hope_ rises in his chest.

But no.

He’s not that stupid.

“Don’t do this, Logan. Two days ago all you wanted was a date with Blaine Anderson.”

“Two days ago, I thought my smart, funny, _very_ attractive best friend was straight.”

“You don’t…not _me._ ”

“Why not you? You know I never really had anyone before you and D. I feel…happier, with you two. It kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“So…what, then? What are you suggesting, exactly? That we just decide we’re dating? That everything’s gonna be totally fine because you know my stupid secret now?”

“No,” Logan says, taking a step closer, “I’m saying that maybe this could be our first date. And we could see where it goes from here.”

Julian takes a deep, shuddering breath, “Well. I guess…I guess a Taylor Swift concert is a pretty okay first date.”

“We could get some food after, too. My treat.”

“…yeah, okay.”

“Can I ask you for one thing, though? If we’re going to give this a shot?”

“What?”

“I know you were thinking about taking that movie with your dad. The one he doesn’t want you to take. And it kind of seems like _you_ don’t really want it. That you’re trying to prove a point.”

Julian blinks, “You want me to turn it down?”

“I just…if we’re going to _try_ , it’ll be kind of hard if you leave for three months right away. And since it doesn’t really seem like something you really want…”

“Okay.”

“…really?”

“Yeah. I…I want to try. Us.”

Logan’s lips curve into a happy smile, “I’d really be worth sticking around for?”

“Of course you are.”

“Huh,” Logan appears to think about it for a moment, his eyes softening, “It’s kinda crazy that someone could feel that I’m worth that much.”

“Kinda crazy that there’s anyone who doesn’t feel like that.”

Logan’s eyes take on an odd, fierce look. He steps forward, slides one hand around the back of Julian’s neck and kisses him in a way that makes Julian’s toes curl. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, all at once, and he’s held upright only by Logan’s hands on him.

“Wow,” Logan says softly, when they pull apart for air, “That was…something.”

“Good something?”

“Really good something.”

Julian ducks his head, can’t help but laugh a little, “Um…Blaine’s gonna be disappointed.”

“He’ll get over it,” Logan says, “He doesn’t even like Taylor Swift, actually.”

“Well, then. It never would’ve worked out.”

Logan laughs, “Probably not.”

He leans in again, his kiss a little softer this time. Julian barely hears the applause as the last song closes out, breaks away only when people start filing out of the doors beside them.

“Right,” Logan looks up, stepping between Julian and the hundreds of teenagers who’d no doubt jump to get a photo op with him, “Not out, yet. Let’s get you out go here, alright?”

He wraps one arm around Julian’s waist, leads him across the parking lot to Julian’s car.

Logan plays the last few songs they’d missed on the car ride home, grins at Julian as he sings the lyrics. He loops in Julian’s single again, lowering the volume partway through to peer curiously over at Julian.

“Are these lyrics about me?”

Julian feels his face flush, “Don’t be ridiculous. I only wrote like, half of them myself.”

“So _half_ of the lyrics are about me, then?”

Julian glares, but it’s a little hard to maintain a stony face when Logan’s grinning back at him, especially when Logan reaches over and rests his hand on Julian’s knee.

“I hate you,” he mutters, and Logan laughs.

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” Julian says, softly, “I don’t.”


	61. Backpacking through Europe

He doesn’t bring his cell phone.

He sends a text to Derek, explaining the situation, then tosses it in his dresser drawer. His laptop gets left on his desk, and he packs only his most casual clothes in his most compact suitcase.

Michelle will be worried, he knows, so he scrawls a quick note to her, makes sure to leave it somewhere only she’ll find it — his father never bothers opening the cabinet where Michelle keeps her favorite loose-leaf teas, so he knows it’ll be found by the right person if he leaves it tucked between _Citrus Boost_ and _Choco-Mint Indulgence_.

Logan feels a little guilty, but this may be his only chance to do something like this. He’s starting college in the fall, will be overwhelmed with classes and internships for the next four years. Following _that_ , he’s expected to start out on his own political career, to do exactly what his family’s been grooming him for his entire life. It’s so much pressure, so much to live up to, and he just needs to _get away_.

Just for the summer, he promises in his note.

He stops by a bank on the way to the airport. They won’t let him withdraw his entire account, of course, so he takes as much as he can get. He’s sure Johnny will be able to track the plane ticket he buys on his AmEx, but he won’t have much luck if he chooses to follow that.

While he’s waiting for his flight, he ducks into one of the airport bathrooms. Thanks to the red-eye ticket he’d purchased, it’s mostly empty, and he only has to deal with one man’s curious eyes as he dyes his hair in the sink. With his bright blonde hair covered, he’s sure he won’t be recognized. The dark color washes him out a bit, but that should only serve to help him go unnoticed.

Logan flies to London. He takes the next train to Paris after that, pays for his ticket in cash. The first bus out of Paris takes him to Strasbourg, then Munich, then Prague.

It seems like as good a place as any to stop.

There’s a hotel, not too far from his stop, and he drags himself to the front desk, asks for the first room he can get. It’s a bit smaller than he’s used to, but he’s sure he won’t be looked for here.

Won’t be recognized.

He tosses his suitcase into a corner, throws himself face-first on the bed, and sleeps.

 

.

 

Julian’s fairly certain he only makes it through the airport on luck alone. He’s in his most tattered jeans, pulled on his largest sweater. He’s sure he looks a little ridiculous, walking through LAX with a scarf wound around his neck, but he needs to do this without being caught.

He’s grateful, for getting cast in a movie so big. It’s already being lauded as the biggest action movie of the year, and he’s heard talk of a multi-picture deal already in the works. But the film hasn’t even _premiered_ yet, and he’s already lost any semblance of privacy.

Waking up to the sound of a camera clicking _outside his window_ had been the last straw.

He doesn’t really have a plan. He’d shown up to the airport almost on a whim, had booked a ticket by glancing at upcoming departure times and picking one that sounded far away.

He’s never been to Prague before.

He checks into the first hotel he finds on Google. It’s nice enough, he supposes. Not nice enough that anyone would believe a _movie star_ could be a guest, but suitable for his own purposes.

Once the door is locked, he _finally_ takes a breath. He un-winds the scarf from his neck, tosses the too-warm sweater on the floor. He catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and pauses.

His face is plastered over every major publication. Across a hundred billboards. He’ll never go unrecognized looking like this.

There’s a small toiletry kit, in the hotel bathroom, and Julian scrounges up a pair of small nail scissors. It takes forever, with the tiny size, and it’s a little difficult to hack at his own hair, with this angle.

By the time he’s done, he looks a little bit like he’s been attacked with a chainsaw. It’s short, uneven, messy. But it’s not enough. He has a pair of reading glasses, tucked into his carry-on — he uses them to read scripts, mostly, to help his eyes focus when he’s been staring at the page too long. They’re thick, oversized, manage to cover enough of his face that he doesn’t quite look like himself.

It has to be good enough.

Just for a little while.

 

.

 

It’s not until his first full day in Europe that Logan realizes he hadn’t really thought this plan through. He has enough money to get him through the summer, sure, but he has absolutely no idea _what_ he’s going to do — he’s used to a certain degree of comfort, when traveling, and finds that he’s not entirely sure what to do with himself when left on his own.

He gets a café recommendation from the woman working the hotel desk, makes his way down the street and sits at a small table by himself. A kindly old woman approaches, offers him a coffee in heavily-accented English.

So.

He still looks like a tourist, at least.

He lets her recommend a breakfast for him, dives into some kind of smoked sausage dish topped with eggs and a garlicky sauce he likes more than anticipated.

After breakfast, he roams around the city a bit. He’s not the only tourist, not by far, and he blends into the background of a passing tour group, listens to the guide point out various sites around them.It’s kind of nice, getting the chance to do stereotypical tourist things instead of attending diplomatic dinners and meetings with foreign politicians.

The guide wraps up the tour right in front of a nice-looking restaurant, and Logan makes a move to step inside.

“You know the guides get paid to recommend places to eat, right?” A voice beside him says, “They _want_ you to eat here.”

Logan turns, raising an eyebrow at the man in front of him. He’s slightly shorter than Logan, with a horribly unfortunate hair cut. He’s wearing a too-big jacket over his plain white t-shirt, too-large glasses over his eyes. Logan might not have payed much attention to him at all, but his slight French-accented voice is nice, and his face seems pretty beneath the hipster glasses.

“Well do you have a better idea?” Logan asks, “Because I’m new here.”

“I am too,” the man says, “Which is why I’d rather hit up some local spots. Care to join me?”

Logan looks down at the man, pursing his lips as he considers, “I don’t see why not. I don’t have anything else planned for the day.”

“ _Parfait_ ,” the man says, and holds out his hand, “I’m Alexandre.”

Logan shakes it, hesitating just a moment, “Derek.”

 

.

 

Julian’s not quite sure what possesses him to talk to the man. He sees him sneak into the tour group — he’s too tall to go unnoticed, and Julian feels a twinge of sympathy at the bad dye job. He’s sure his hair looks just as bad. But the man’s still attractive, and Julian’s a sucker for a pretty face.

“I’m Alexandre,” he says, using the French pronunciation. It’s a little uncreative, maybe, using a version of his own middle name, but he hopes the accent is enough to ward off any chance of recognition, just in case the poor outfit choices and glasses aren’t doing enough.

“Derek,” the man says, and Julian smiles.

They wind up at an Italian place, of all things. It’s a few blocks down from the town square, and there are enough customers milling about that he figures it must be good.

“So,” Derek asks, “You’re clearly not from around here.”

“Did the French accent give it away?”

Derek laughs, “Maybe. Parisian, right?”

“Maybe,” Julian says, smiling. It worries him, a little — he’d hoped this guy wasn’t well-versed in his European accents. One slip-up now, and this charade could be over, “Is it that obvious?”

“I spent a summer in Paris, a few years ago,” Derek tells him, “It was more of a lucky guess, though.”

“And where are you from, then? American, I know, but New York? California?”

Derek sips at his water, clears his throat before answering, “Ohio. Kind of in the middle of the country. No Disneyland or anything, so most people outside of the States haven’t heard of it.”

“We do take geography here, you know.”

The man laughs, looking a little sheepish, “Sorry. I was trying not to assume, but I guess that kinda seemed rude.”

“That’s okay,” Julian says, twisting up a forkful of noodles, “I expect it from Americans.”

The comment gets a napkin tossed his way, but he doesn’t exactly mind. He hadn’t planned for company, but having it is nice. He tends to wallow, when alone, and Derek proves a welcome distraction.

“So what brings you to Prague?” He asks, and Julian shrugs.

“I had some free time,” he offers, leaving out any further details, “Not to sound totally cliché, but it’s kind of _finding myself_ trip. You?”

“Actually,” Derek says, smiling softly, “Kind of the same. I picked Prague at random, but I thought I’d travel around a bit. You planning on staying here the whole time?”

“No, I thought I’d travel too. Nowhere in particular, really. I guess you could say I’m winging it,” he swirls his wine glass a little, says the next words without fully thinking them through, “Is there any chance you’d want some company?”

 

.

 

Agreeing to Alexandre’s invitation might not have been the smartest idea. But Logan has zero plan, and traveling around Europe with someone else sounds a lot more manageable than figuring things out himself. He’s decent company, with a great sense of humor and a knack for finding the best hidden cafés.

The best part, of course, is that he doesn’t recognize Logan.

Not like he’d expect him to — the chances of the average European being able to recognize the son of a New York Senator are pretty slim, and Alexandre doesn’t seem at all inclined to talk family.

He does, however, get excited about talking travel once Logan’s agreed to join him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket — a phone with dozens of unread texts, Logan notices — and opens a note, showing Logan a list of cities.

“I want to try Venice,” Alexandre says, “Barcelona, Amsterdam, Kiev…”

“Copenhagen,” Logan adds, watching as the other boy types it in, “Edinburgh. Oh, Vienna for sure.”

“Not Paris, though. This is my summer away.”

“Of course. And nowhere in Russia, please.”

Alexandre tilts his head, looking confused, “Are you on the run from the Russian mob, or something?”

“No,” Logan laughs, “But they’re kind of anti-gay, and I’m kind of _very_ gay, so I’d prefer not to run into any issues with that.”

Alexandre looks a bit surprised, and Logan wonders if that’ll be a deal-breaker. If it is, he’s glad he said something now — it’d be mildly annoying to waste his time traveling with a homophobe.

“That won’t be an issue, will it?” He asks.

“No,” Alexandre shakes his head, “I mean I…I’m not exactly straight myself, so I’m perfectly comfortable with avoiding any problems.”

“Well then,” Logan says, feeling a little more pleased than he has any right to, “I guess this list is a good start, isn’t it?”

 

.

 

They spend a few days in Prague, first. There’s not really any reason to rush their trip. Derek’s said he’s free until August, and Julian’s planned for at least a month and a half. Besides, Julian wants to tour Prague Castle, and Derek drags him out for an early morning jog across Charles Bridge.

They go to Copenhagen, next, mostly due to last-minute airline tickets that Julian finds online. Derek tracks down the _Little Mermaid_ sculpture from brochures in the hotel they pick, and they stumble upon an amusement park that Julian _begs_ him to go to.

“Come on,” he says, tugging at Derek’s sleeve, “You’re already in Europe, you might as well be spontaneous! Just a few rides? Please?”

He starts walking toward the entrance before he can get a response, and Derek sighs as he follows him in. There’s a handful of typical amusement park rides, a roller coaster and a carousel that Julian convinces the other man to go on. They stop at a stand for food, and Julian laughs when Derek gets a smear of sauce across his chin.

“You have a little something,” he says, gesturing at the man’s face, “Just a bit, right there.”

Derek reaches for his chin, flushes a bit when he feels the food on his face, “It’s a good thing we instituted that no-picture rule. Would’ve hated for one of my friends to see embarrassing pictures of me.”

“It’s a necessary rule,” Julian says, “We’re living in the moment, remember? Besides, I don’t want any photo evidence of this haircut.”

“Oh my god,” Derek laughs, “I hoped you knew it was that bad. I didn’t want to say anything.”

“It’s okay, I just would’ve pointed out your badly dyed hair in response.”

The other boy makes a face, “Yeah. Tried to…touch it up myself. I guess I didn’t do it exactly right.”

“It’s okay,” Julian tells him, “You’re still pretty.”

Derek grins at him, and Julian grabs his arm, “Come on, I want to go on the ferris wheel.”

 

.

 

Vienna’s next.

It’s Logan’s idea — for the music, of course.

“There’s _two_ palaces in this city,” Alexandre says, as Logan leads them down the street, “And the first thing you want to do is visit an Opera House?”

“I like music,” Logan tells him, “And we’re in _Vienna_ , we can’t not. You’ll like this one, I promise. It’s Rossini.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Well it’s in French, so at least you’ll understand it.”

He expects a fair amount of complaining and boredom, to be quite honest. The last time he’d dragged Derek to an opera — and god, he feels just a little weird using his friends’ name — he’d fallen asleep partway through, nearly gotten kicked out by an usher when he started snoring.

But Alexandre actually seems _interested_ , when the opera starts. He leans forward in his seat, stares with rapt attention as the performers twirl around the stage. At intermission, he turns to Logan, his eyes bright.

“I take back what I said,” he says, a little breathless, “This is _good_.”

Logan feels a little smug, “I told you.”

The second act starts, and Logan can’t help but glance over at his companion. His eyes are bright behind his glasses, and his reactions to the more dramatic parts of the opera make Logan smile.

Afterwards, they take a stroll along the Danube. It’s quiet, along the river, and for a time they walk along in silence.

“So, music,” Alexandre says, looking at Logan pointedly.

“I play, sometimes,” Logan says, trying to keep it light, “Piano. I sing a little, too.”

“You do?” Alexandre looks over, surprised, “Are you any good?”

“I’m decent,” Logan says, “Won’t be in any operas soon, but I was in choir at my high school.”

Alexandre stops, abruptly, and Logan jerks to a halt beside him.

“Sing something, then.”

“What, like, right now?” Logan asks, glancing around.

“There aren’t that many people around. Don’t tell me you have stage fright.”

“I don’t, but…”

“What if I sing something for you, first?”

Logan’s sure he isn’t hiding his surprise well, “What, you sing too?”

“A little bit,” Alexandre smiles at him, then clears his throat and starts softly.

 

_Quand il me prend dans ses bras_

_Qu’il me parle tout bas_

_Je vois la vie en rose._

 

_Il me dit des mots d’amour_

_Des mots de tous les jours_

_Et ça me fait quelque chose._

 

Logan smiles, recognizing the song. He doesn’t quite understand the lyrics in French, but he knows the song well enough to interject.

 

_When you press me to your heart_

_I’m in a world apart_

_A world where roses bloom._

 

_And when you speak angels sing from above_

_Everyday words seem to turn into love songs._

 

_Give your heart and soul to me_

_And life will always be_

_La vie en rose._

 

Alexandre laughs, breathy, steps closer and sings along — Logan in English, him echoing in French. It works well together, their voices blending in beautiful harmony. They sustain the last note, and the only thing that makes Logan tear his eyes away from the man in front of him is the sound of delighted clapping nearby.

“Bravo!” An older gentleman says, grinning widely, “Wunderschönen!”

Alexandre smiles.

 

.

 

Something about their song in Vienna changes things.

If they hadn’t been interrupted by the applause of a passerby, Julian’s pretty sure he would have leaned in for a kiss. It kind of felt like Derek wanted the same, if Julian had read the look in his eyes correctly. They spend a weekend in Vienna, hop on a train to Venice next.

“I’m sorry,” the woman at the hotel they stop at says, “We only have one room left.”

Julian turns to Derek, a questioning look in his eyes. Derek stares at him, then turns back to the woman.

“We’ll take it,” he says.

“I came here mostly for the food,” Julian tells him later, trying not to think too hard about the way their hands keep brushing as they walk along the canal, “But I’ve also really wanted to ride in one of these boat things, and I’m pretty sure Venice is going to be completely underwater pretty soon.”

“Wouldn’t that just make the boats more common?” Derek asks, and Julian laughs.

It’s a bit of a closer fit than Julian expected. Their knees are pressed together as they float down the canal. It would almost be romantic, if he weren’t so aware of the gondolier standing just behind him. But then Derek’s hand finally comes to rest on his own, and Julian forgets all about their audience.

“I’m feeling a little tired, all of a sudden,” Derek murmurs, when they step back onto dry land, “You don’t mind going back to the hotel, do you? We could pick up some wine on the way, if you want.”

“That depends,” Julian says, not letting go of his hand, “Are you offering something better than wine?”

“I might be.”

Derek’s eyes are dark, as he gazes down. Julian can feel his skin prickling, a familiar warmth rising inside him.

“Well, then. Guess we should head back.”

He doesn’t bother with the lights, as Derek pushes him inside the hotel room. He knows it’s unlikely that Derek will recognize him _now_ , after weeks of traveling together, but he’s still a little worried about hiding without his glasses, without the baggy clothes he’s been wearing to hide his figure.

Somehow, it’s like Derek knows exactly what he likes. He shoves Julian onto the bed, climbs on top of him and _bites_ at the tender skin of his neck. It’s fast, it’s messy, and Julian doesn’t bother holding back his noises.

Afterwards, Derek turns to face him, drags one hand up Julian’s side.

“Why are you hiding?” He asks, and Julian’s blood runs cold.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The glasses,” Derek clarifies, “The clothes. You’re _stunning_ , you know. But you hide it.”

Julian’s quiet, for a moment. It doesn’t seem like the other man expects an answer. He just _stares_ , strokes across Julian’s skin with gentle fingers.

“Maybe,” he says, finally, “I just wanted someone to _look_.”

 

.

 

Logan didn’t expect this.

This summer was supposed to be about _hiding_ , about being someone other than himself for just a few weeks.

He didn’t expect to meet someone like Alexandre.

They’re inseparable, after Venice. They don’t bother with two hotel rooms, anymore, not when they so often fall into bed together anyway.Logan can’t seem to keep his hands off Alexandre, can’t seem to stop kissing him.

Thankfully, Alexandre seems to have the same problem.

He leans against Logan lazily, in the basement of the coffeeshop in Amsterdam. His pupils are dilated, his limbs loose.

“Would you judge me,” he says, his voice an odd, off-kilter lilt, “If I said I wanted to come here just for the pot?”

Logan laughs, takes the joint from his fingers and takes a drag himself, “Better than coming just for the prostitutes, I guess.”

The sex that night is slow, lazy. Alexandre gasps as Logan slides into him, whimpers against his shoulder and mumbles all sorts of things, half in languages that Logan doesn’t understand. They sleep for hours after, curled up together, waking only when the midday sun streams through the window.

They do manage to see something other than the inside of a coffeeshop, traversing across the way for the Van Gogh Museum, the Stedelijk, the Poëzie.

Alexandre does suggest a sex show, later that night, but laughs at the expression Logan makes.

“It’s okay,” he says, slipping his arm through Logan’s and pressing close, “I’d never force someone to do something like that. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“We could always have our own show,” Logan suggests, slipping one hand into Alexandre’s back pocket, “A private one, back in the hotel.”

Alexandre smirks at him, leans up and presses their lips together, “I’ll race you.”

Something odd happens that night.

He has Alexandre underneath him, like he has so many times since Venice. Has his hands on Alexandre’s skin, hisbody pressed against him. But there’s something, when he looks into his eyes, that makes the feeling hit Logan like a train.

 _I want this_ , he thinks, stronger than he’s every felt anything before, _I need this_.

He doesn’t say anything, of course. Alexandre doesn’t even know his real _name_. This was never meant to be more than a fling.

But, Logan knows, it’s turned into more than just a fling for him.

He’s pretty sure he’s falling in love.

And he’s not quite sure what to do about it.

 

.

 

They’re in Barcelona, and Julian doesn’t want to leave the hotel.

The city had been his idea, he thinks, but he can’t quite remember what all he wanted to see. They don’t get in until late at night, head straight to the hotel and collapse into bed. They’re both too tired for sex, but Julian still wakes up in the morning with his head pillowed on Derek’s chest, Derek’s arms around his waist.

He can’t help but stare.

The man is _beautiful_ , and Julian’s not sure how he got attached so quickly. Why he wants to stay in this bed forever, why he feels so _content_ in this very moment that he doesn’t care about the rest of the world.

They’re in Barcelona when Carmen texts.

 _Producers called - want to move filming up to end of July. I need to let them know of your availability by the end of the day_.

Julian stares at the message for far too long. It’s the kind of thing he should jump on, something he should agree to without question. He’d been so excited to sign up for this film, and now all he can think is that it’ll pull him away from Derek sooner.

 _Tell them I’m not free until August,_ he sends back, and shuts off his phone.

They kiss in the Museu Nacional. Hold hands walking through the Poble Espanyol. Sunbathe on Barceloneta.

And make love in the king-sized bed of their hotel, over and over, until Julian almost believe he really _is_ Alexandre, that this really _is_ his life.

The thing is, though, that it isn’t.

And he knows all of this will have to end, one way or another.

 

.

 

They’re in London.

They’re in London, and Alexandre looks far too peaceful for Logan to wake him up. He kisses the man’s sleeping forehead, slips out of bed as quietly as he can and pulls on his clothes.

He’s sure he’ll find a Starbucks somewhere, maybe a Pret A Manger or a Costa. He does, sure enough, picks up a latté for Alexandre and a flat white for himself. On his walk back, he passes a theater, and he finds himself glancing over the posters — it’s been a while, since he’s seen a movie. Maybe Alexandre would like to make out with him in the back of a dark room.

Both coffees spill across the pavement.

That new superhero movie is coming soon, he sees. There’s an actor staring at him from the poster, his eyes intense, his mouth twisted into a smirk.

Logan knows that eyes.

Logan knows that _smile_.

Alexandre’s just woken up, when he walks back into the room. His eyes are still half-lidded, his voice sleepy as he stretches.

“Good morning,” he says, in the same French accent he’s used these past few weeks, “Where were you?”

“Getting coffee,” Logan says flatly, turning away from him to rifle through the suitcase on the dresser.

“Then where is it?” Alexandre asks, “Didn’t want to get me one, too? And I’m fairly certain that’s _my_ suitcase, in case you’re confused.”

“Not confused,” Logan says. He finally finds what he’s looking for, pulls it out and turns. Alexandre’s eyes widen, and he sits up.

“What are you doing?”

Logan holds up the passport, takes a deep breath, “If I open this…what name is inside?”

“…Alexander _is_ there.”

“And Julian? Is that in there too?”

Alexandre — Julian — _whoever_ he is, swallows, “I…I can explain.”

The accent melts away, and Logan squeezes his eyes shut. He flips the passport open, stares down at the face of the man he’s spent so many nights with. Stares at the name underneath his photo.

_Julian Alexander Talal Larson-Armstrong_

Logan feels like an idiot.

 

.

 

Julian’s stomach twists into knots, when Derek holds up the passport. He’s not sure how he finally figured it out, has no idea what he’s really feeling right now. He pushes himself out of bed, steps across the room.

“You don’t understand,” he says, “I wasn’t trying to lie. I just…my whole life has been on camera. Since before I was even born. I just wanted to be…not me. For just a little while. I didn’t expect it to go this far.”

“You told me you were _French_ ,” Derek says, tossing the passport aside, “It wasn’t just your name, it was your whole _life_. Everything. Was any of this — fuck, Alex — _Julian_ , was any of this real?”

“It was,” Julian insists, “It _is_. You have to believe me. I’ve never…I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Felt like _what_ exactly?”

“I…” Julian’s panicking, a little, feeling a little desperate. It makes him do stupid things. _Say_ stupid things, “I love you, Derek.”

The man freezes, in front of him. Julian’s worried he’s misinterpreted this, that none of this meant anything to Derek at all.

But then, he _laughs_.

He brings a hand to his mouth, turns away from Julian and positively _cackles,_ his eyes sparkling.

“…wow,” Julian says, feeling utterly pathetic, “Okay. You could’ve stuck with an _I don’t feel the same_ , but okay. I get it. I’ll just um…pack my things.”

He moves to turn away, but then Derek’s grabbing him, still laughing even as he turns Julian to face him.

“It’s not that,” the man says, still grinning, “It’s just…I didn’t think, until you said that name. But god, I have no right to be angry with you.”

“I mean, I get it. I did lie. About a lot.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding, “That’s true. But so did I.”

“…what do you mean?”

“My name isn’t Derek,” Derek says, “It’s Logan. My real name is Logan.”

“…I don’t understand.”

“I wanted to hide, too,” Derek — Logan? — says, “I wanted to be be someone else, too.”

Julian frowns, “I still don’t…why would you want to hide?”

“Logan Wright,” the man says, “My father is — ”

“Senator Wright,” Julian says, everything suddenly falling into place, “From New York. Not Ohio.”

“I _did_ go to boarding school in Ohio, to be fair. Whereas you totally lied about France.”

Julian smiles, “It’s the only accent I knew I’d be able to keep up that long. I’ve done a few French movies.”

“Well it was certainly convincing,” Logan says, “I wouldn’t have figured it out if I hadn’t seen your face on a poster today.”

“So you don’t hate me, then?”

“As long as you don’t hate me.”

Julian stares at him for a moment, then takes a deep breath and smiles, “Well. Logan Wright. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Julian Larson.”

 

.

 

Julian’s mouth curves into a smile when Logan turns in the salon chair.

“Much better,” he says, eyeing Logan’s newly-dyed hair, “I gotta say, blonde suits you a lot better than that awful brown you picked.”

“I just wanted something _different_ ,” Logan argues, “And yours looks a lot better too, I might add.”

Julian grins, steps to the side and checks out his reflection in the mirror. His haircut hadn’t taken quite so long — the hairdresser had evened out his messy cut, and it’s grown out enough that it’s not a total disaster anymore. Logan almost misses the heavy glasses he’d abandoned once the facade was up, but he’s pretty sure he might be able to convince Julian to wear them in private.

He looks much better, Logan thinks, as they pay for their haircuts. The moment the jig was up, Julian had gone out clothes shopping, thrown out his baggy sweatshirts and ratty jeans and donned tighter clothes, shirts that hugged his figure instead of hiding it.

"See something you like?" Julian asks, and Logan grins as he pulls the man closer.

"I do, as a matter of fact."

"Well you're gonna have to wait to fully enjoy it," Julian says, leading him back out onto the street, "You  _promised_ you'd take me on the London Eye, you know."

"I did, didn't I?"

Julian grins, leans up to press a kiss to Logan's cheek It makes Logan smile, and he hooks his finger through Julian's belt loop as they walk down the street.

"You know," he says, only a little nervous for this conversation, "We only have another two weeks left in Europe."

"We do, don't we? Guess we better make the most of it."

Logan tries to keep his expression neutral. He'd hoped Julian would want to continue this, after, but  _making the most of it_ kind of feels like a dismissal. Maybe this really was only temporary, after all.

"We have to spend every minute together, don't we?" Julian continues, squeezing Logan's arm, "To make up for trying to maintain a West Coast-East Coast relationship, y'know?"

Logan looks down, sees the twinkle in Julian's eyes as he beams up at him.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you? To make me nervous."

"'course I did," Julian says, looking far too proud of himself, "Gotta keep you on your toes, don't I?"

"I have the feeling you're never going to stop surprising me," Logan says, leaning down to kiss his forehead, "And I look forward to every single time."


	62. King!Logan and Concubine!Julian

Logan doesn't mean to collect them, really. 

He's a little more traditional, in his romantic ambitions, hopes to one day find a single person to spend his life with. Besides, he'd seen the way John's many mistresses had ruined his relationship with Queen Cordelia, watched how Lady Michelle's life had been torn apart by the rumors that followed her family when she'd been noticed as the King's  _favorite_.

But the men come to him, first.

Just boys, at first, when Logan's barely just a boy himself.

The twins come early. They're of a wealthy family, one powerful on their own. But it's the elder sister who marries to secure their position, and Lord and Lady Brightman don't seem to know what to do with their eccentric sons. So they're sent to live as Logan's _playmates_ , in childhood. They're energetic, and though the games they play can sometimes be tiresome, they are remarkably skilled at pulling him out of his more troubled moods.

There's Reed, the small boy who had come to him so shy Logan had feared to touch him, but who proved ample entertainment based on his artistic talents alone. He spends most of his days painting members of the court, presenting Logan with more private pictures -- caricatures of the nobles who had irritated him that day. Logan had taken him in as a favor, when his mother had expressed fear that he'd never agree to marriage.

Kurt, with the bright eyes and the birdlike voice, comes to him an orphan. His quick tongue and kind smile keeps Logan interested for some time, of course, much like the others. 

A half-dozen others, all pretty, with their own talents. All interesting in their own way.

But then  _he'd_ arrived.

He'd been a gift, for Logan's coronation. A young man from a village on the outskirts, with no family name to speak of, but  _oh, my King, is he a beauty_.

And he was.

They put on a bit of a show, when they lead him in. It had been Logan's most trusted advisor who hand-picked him, and Derek had scoured the lands for  _weeks_ to find someone suitable for his King. He's clad in sheer, golden fabric, his wrists and ankles bound with emerald-encrusted cuffs. There are jewels strung throughout his dark hair, emeralds sparkling amongst the soft curls. He steps into the room lightly, his eyes downcast. Demure.

"He is a prize, isn't he?" Logan breathes, and the man looks up. His eyes flash, dangerously, his pink lips curving into a smirk.

Not demure at all, then.

The man - Julian, he discovers later - certainly has a mind of his own. He's absolutely wild, when he joins Logan in his bedchambers that evening. He bites, and he scratches, and he pushes and  _takes_ , mounts Logan in ways none of the others ever have.

Logan's almost reluctant to show him to the quarters he'll share with the others. He's half-tempted to keep this man here, in his bed, always.

But he's a King, and that wouldn't be _proper_.

He has work to do. Laws to pass. Taxes to calculate. He can't spend his every hour in bed with one of his boys, as much as he wants to.

It takes time, for the others to acclimate to Julian's presence. He's a bit difficult, Logan supposes, a little haughty compared to the others. He struts into his new quarters with the commandeering persona of a royal himself, glances around and claims the most comfortable corner of the room.

He doesn't join the others in their daily activities. He can sing, they know, but he refuses to join in music lessons. He smiles, sometimes, at the twins antics, watches curiously as Reed paints.

But he keeps to himself for the most part.

"Am I allowed to leave our quarters?" He asks Logan one night, after several animalistic rounds that left Logan weak and eager to please, "During the day, when you're away. I've seen the gardens outside. The pools. Am I allowed to explore?"

Logan takes his hand, kisses the fingertips, "So long as you always come back, my dear."

He does.

Always.

Logan sees him from the windows of his study, sometimes. Sees the idle way Julian roams about the gardens, the way he plucks flowers and tucks them in his hair, always smiling so prettily when Logan compliments him on his choices. 

"Lily of the valley," Logan says, admiring the tiny white flowers sprinkled through Julian's hair like stars, "They're poisonous, you know."

"Yes, if you  _eat_ them," Julian says, laughing, "I don't intend to."

"Some say they represent happiness. Luck."

Julian's smile wavers only a moment, "Fitting, then. I am happy. And so wonderfully lucky, to have wound up with the attentions of a King."

The others are happy, Logan knows. They wish only for company, for plentiful food and drink, for the chance to practice their music and art without the pressures of the outside world. They don't seem particularly bothered, when Logan calls upon them less, embrace their increased free time and adopt new talents, new hobbies.

With Julian, though, he isn't so sure.

He asks for things, of course. Jewels, pretty clothes, sweet treats from far-off lands. All things Logan presents to him happily and promptly, with promises to bring him more any time he requests them. But he gazes out the window sometimes, strolls through the gardens as if he's searching for something. Still, he climbs into Logan's bed willingly, kisses and sucks and fucks like he'd rather be nowhere else.

Logan's overwhelmed, by the affection he feels for the man. The swelling in his chest when Julian looks his way. The way his stomach flutters at the sound of a laugh echoing down the hallway.

He loves him.

More than he's ever loved any of the others.

Which is why the possibility of Julian's discontentment is so worrisome.

"You seem troubled, my King," he says one night, his head pillowed on Logan's chest, "Have I not satisfied you?"

Logan can't help but laugh, "You always satisfy me, Julian. As I'm sure you're well aware."

He likes that smug twinkle in Julian's eyes, the way he shifts closer in pleasure.

"Then what is it? You think far too loudly."

"Are you happy, my pet?"

Julian looks up, rests his chin on Logan's chest, "Happy?"

"Happy," Logan repeats, "Here, in my castle."

"How could I not be? I live in a beautiful palace, with a handsome King. I have more food than I could have ever dreamt of. Spend my days with pretty - albeit dull - young men. What reason could I have to be unhappy?"

He looks so  _earnest_ , and Logan doesn't want to believe he's lying. But something tells him it's not entirely true.

"You dream of more though, don't you?" He asks, carding his fingers through Julian's hair, "You want more than I give you."

Julian hesitates. He draws his lower lip in between his teeth, bites just slightly.

"I wouldn't dare," he says slowly, carefully, "Ask for me than I'm offered. I'm just a whore, after all."

"You know I despise that word."

"A concubine, then."

"Not much better."

" _Yours_ ," Julian finally settles on, "I was a nobody before I came here, and I will be a nobody after I leave."

"You want to leave?"

Julian looks away, "I won't be young forever."

"Nor will I."

"I won't be beautiful forever."

"I doubt that."

"You won't want me forever."

"Hey," Logan tugs at Julian's hair, pulls his eyes up to meet his, "I will. What could ever make you think I won't?"

Julian's answer comes with a little more venom than Logan expected, "The others."

"The others?"

"Kurt," Julian says, picking at a thread from his pillow, "The twins. Reed. Joshua, and Blaine, and all the others. They're all still here."

"Well of course they are," Logan says, "This is their home."

"It wasn't always."

"Julian, I don't understand..."

"If you want me," Julian says, "If you want  _only_ me, then why are they here still?"

"They're..." Logan trails off. He hadn't considered this, not at all. He hasn't touched any of the others in months, it's true. But he'd never considered sending them away, "Is that what would make you happy, Julian? If I sent the others away."

"It would make me happy if you chose me," Julian says, "If you  _proved it_ , that you wanted me the most. That you...that you love me. Only me."

He looks almost mournful, on his final words, and Logan sits up in the mountain of blankets.

"You...I've told you, have I not? That I love you. Quite passionately, I might add."

"Do you?" Julian asks, "Or do you just love bedding me?"

"Julian..."

"I'm sorry," Julian says, moving away, "It's not my place. It's just...you asked what would make me happy. What I want. And I want to be  _chosen_. By you."

Logan thinks, a moment, "And if I don't?"

It's an impossible thought, of course, that Logan would ever choose anyone else. But he's curious to know the stakes, the consequences this leads to in Julian's mind.

"Then..." Julian takes a breath, "I'd prefer to be left alone, like the others. I'm find things to bide my time. I'll sit around prettily, like a trophy, when you need me too. But if you won't choose me...I'd like to not spend my nights in your sheets. It would hurt, after a while, I think. If I loved you, but you didn't love me."

He looks  _pained_.

It hurts Logan's heart.

"Well, then. I shall consider it."

He hadn't realized Julian felt that way. He always seemed so enthusiastic, when he joined Logan in his bedchambers. He'd half-thought his actions after, when they curled up together and whispered sweet nothings, had been an act, an illusion on Julian's part to keep Logan happy, so that he might be gifted with more pretty trinkets.

He never thought Julian might feel  _insecure_ , that his true desires weren't rich wines and silk fabrics, but simply more time with Logan.

In the end, it's really no choice at all.

The others make no sign of jealousy, when Logan strolls to the room to his favorite, curled up on a settee beside the window. He looks up as Logan nears, his eyes a threatening storm.

“And here I was thinking you might be excited to see me.”

The man pouts upward, pulls a knee to his chest and rests his chin there.

“It’s been days,” he complains, “I told you what I wanted. I was clear, was I not?”

Logan chuckles. He sits on the corner where the man’s foot had just been, “You were very clear, dear Julian. Am I not allowed time to make up my mind?”

“I tire of competing for your attention day after day,” Julian says, examining the nails of one hand, “Either choose me, or stop wasting my time.”

It's like he's putting on a show, in front of the others. There's none of the quiet insecurity he'd shown in Logan's chambers, none of the shyness or sorrow. Now, he seems almost the impudent child, pouting until he gets his way.

Logan tuts, “Now, now, you know how this works. I’m your King. I do own you, legally. You’re to do as I say.”

The look Julian aims his way is so fierce Logan nearly laughs.

His pet knows him far too well, of course. He’d never force the man to his bed — Logan prefers his partners willing, enthusiastic in their participation.

And Julian is always such a good sport about it.

“It’s quite a lot you asked of me,” Logan tells him, his ring-clad hand resting on Julian’s calf, “to dismiss all the others, find homes for a dozen pretty things who haven’t done anything wrong.”

Julian’s eyes dart across the room, and the others wisely choose to pretend they aren’t listening, to occupy themselves with other tasks in an effort to avoid his ire.

“They have talents,” Julian says, sulkily, “I’m sure they might find happiness elsewhere.”

Logan hums, “Perhaps. But is it fair to them? To send them away when this has been their home so long?”

He doesn’t miss the way Julian’s lips press together, the look that passes through his eyes before he turns away.

“So you won’t choose me, then?” Julian’s voice is lower, with none of his assumed confidence, “All that talk about me being your favorite, that meant nothing? You're to keep the others after all?”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Logan promises. When Julian still looks downtrodden, he presses two fingers under his chin, lifts his eyes to his once more, “It just took time, my dear, to make the necessary arrangements.”

There’s new look in Julian’s eyes, something almost hopeful, “Do you mean to say that you’ve chosen, then?”

“It was never a choice,” Logan tells him, “I was yours from the moment you were brought to me. You must know that.”

“The others...?”

“Will have good homes. Far from here, of course, I know how jealous you get.”

“So I’m yours, then. Yours only?”

Logan smiles, takes Julian’s hand and lifts it for a kiss across his knuckles, “My only, darling. As I am yours.”

The fierceness of Julian’s kiss almost sends him falling backwards onto the floor, and he laughs, steadying the man.

“If this is your reaction to me choosing you, I can’t imagine what I’ll get when I tell you my other news.”

Julian regards him with suspicion, “And what news would that be?”

“It’s not the homes for the others, that took me so long,” Logan confesses, “There was something else I was looking for - I’ve spent quite some time poring over dull landholding documents, searching for a parcel that hadn’t yet been claimed. And I found one, finally. It’s small, and the manor will require quite a bit of repair before it’s suitable for so much as a summer home. But it does carry a title.”

“And what does that mean?” Julian asks, “You’re going to have to be very specific, my King, I refuse to get my hopes up based on assumption.”

“How would you like to be a Duke?”

“A Duke. Me.”

“It’s not much money,” Logan confesses, “The land is suitable only for a few crops. But a title would mean you have to be recognized as a suitable partner. Nobody could contest that.”

Julian holds his breath. He looks up expectantly, and Logan smiles as he slips his favorite ring off of his finger.

“My Julian,” he says softly, taking the man’s hand in his own and sliding the ring on his finger, “I do choose you. Today and everyday. Now and forevermore. Every moment of the rest of our lives, if you’ll have me.”

He expects smug satisfaction. He expects a haughty look around the room, for Julian to flaunt the ring on his hand in front of the others.

He doesn’t expect tears.

Julian stares up at him, his eyes misty, “So you...you do love me, then? Truly?”

It baffles Logan, still, “You know I do. How many times must I say it?"

"More," Julian says, "Always more."

"And is there anything you'd like to tell  _me_?"

Julian spreads his fingers, stares at the jewel on his finger, "Yes. I suppose I shall marry you."

"And?"

"And..." Julian lowers the hand, looks up at Logan. His eyes are soft, his voice softer, "I love you too, my King. From the very first night, I loved you."

"Julian, my darling. Call me  _Logan_."

Julian's eyes flash, the same dangerous glint that had doomed Logan from the very start, "Well then,  _Logan_. You've given me even more than I asked for."

"I do spoil you, don't I?"

"Endlessly," Julian scoots closer, hooks his gauze-covered ankle around Logan's leg, "Does this mean I'll be a Prince, now?"

"Oh no," Logan shakes his head, brings one finger to twist in a brown curl and imagines a crown nestled atop it, "You'll be a  _King_ , my sweet.  _My_ King."

"As you're mine?"

Logan smiles, "Until the day I die, my King.

"Well then,  _my King_. I look forward to whatever comes next."


	63. Café Owner!Logan and Baker!Julian

Logan’s oddly proud of _The Book & Bean. _Derek had groaned, when he’d revealed the name, told him bookstore cafés were going out of style, that he should’ve just gone into accounting or law like his father wanted. But Logan actually _likes_ showing up to the quiet café early in the morning, likes the calm monotony of grinding the first beans of the day, of straightening out the shelves of books before any customer wanders in.

They do well enough, really. It’s not like the Barnes & Noble across town, with dozens of people filtering through to Instagram their Starbucks and pick up the latest celebrity biography. But Logan likes the calm crowd his own shop has drawn. He has _regulars_ — the elderly gentlemen who orders a single cup of Earl Grey and picks through the bookshelves, inevitably settling on one of the same five books he always does; the twenty-something woman with ink-stained fingers and tired eyes, with her double shots of espresso and her messy journal; the two teenagers, who had made Logan a bit nervous at first, but who order a new drink each time and curiously ask if he has any Fitzgerald, Hawthorne, Plath.

Yes, Logan likes his little shop.

He’s making enough to get by comfortably, and it’s calm enough that he only needs a handful of employees to help him run the place. Bailey’s always a little distracted with his music, but he’s always the first to offer a customer help searching the bookshelves. Merril had come in as a barista, at first, but her had quickly been promoted to the newly-created position of pastry chef when her lemon squares had disappeared in minutes. Spencer handles the coffee when Logan’s not in, and Thad helps with the clean-up, and Derek — despite his initial misgivings — comes in one Saturday a month to help Logan balance the books.

It’s perfect.

Until _Hollywood Cakery_ opens across the street, that is.

It’s a ridiculous name, first off. They live in _Ohio_ , nowhere near Hollywood, and Logan just _knows_ the owners are only trying to make the place seem more upscale than it actually is. The employees are loud, and Logan misses the days he could keep the café doors opens to let in the fresh air.

“These look _beautiful_ , Merril!” Logan overhears Bailey say one day, admiring Merril’s pastries of the day, “I’ve never seen you do little rosettes like this before.”

“Oh, I had to try it out. Julian taught me.”

Logan frowns, where he’s grinding the beans, “Julian? I thought you were dating Spencer.”

“She is!” Spencer calls out from the back, and Merril giggles.

“ _Julian_ ,” she says, as if stressing the name will help Logan clue in, “Across the street? He owns the bakery.”

“Oh,” Logan sours, “The loud ones.”

“He’s not that bad,” Merril says, piping a pink swirl, “He’s really talented. I went over for a cupcake yesterday and when he found out I work here he offered to show me some decorating tricks.”

“What, he didn’t think our desserts were fancy enough? Sorry, but we focus on _quality_ , not looks.”

Merril and Bailey share a _look_ , “Did he do something to you, Logan?”

“Yes, he moved in across the street,” Logan grabs for a mug, starts work on brewing the first test cup of the day, “They’re loud, and annoying, and they inexplicably blast pop music at all hours of the day. Besides, we already _sell_ pastries. They’re just stealing our business.”

“We sell coffee,” Bailey corrects, “And books. Merril just bakes for fun, we usually run out of food by noon, anyway.”

“I’m still not a fan.”

Merril clears her throat, “Have you considered that maybe you’re just not very good with change?”

“I’m _fine_ with change,” Logan retorts, “ _Good_ change. That asshole isn’t good change.”

He can feel his employees watching him, _hears_ the judgement in their thoughts. He grabs his coffee mug, spinning away.

“I’m gonna go rearrange the books.”

They’re wrong. It’s not that Logan doesn’t like change. It’s just that he’d grown so accustomed to his quiet little street, so used to the peacefulness surrounding his quaint little shop, and the assholes over at _Hollywood_ _Cakery_ ruined all that. They draw _crowds_. They play loud music. They stay open late, which always means Logan has new customers wandering in when he’s trying to close for the night, strays who’d come for the cake and grown curious about the eccentric little bookshop across the way.

Okay, so maybe Logan doesn’t like change.

But it’s not all his fault.

If it had been someone like Merril, perhaps, someone calm and quiet who sold light cakes and sweet cookies, he may not have cared so much. But the assholes across the street are so _trendy_ , specializing in tiny cupcakes and elaborately-decorated cake structures, and Logan really hopes the crowds will lose interest soon enough.

The final straw comes when one of the employees saunters over to Logan’s shop, one evening just before close.

He’s blonde, like Logan, _taller_ than Logan, which always inexplicably pisses him off, and walks in the door whistling a happy tune.

“Be nice,” Bailey murmurs, and Logan pastes on his customer service smile.

“What can I get for you today?”

The man frowns up at the menu board, the delicate loops of Merril’s handwriting spelling out the origins of their beans and the strength of their brews.

“Hi,” the man says, looking a little lost, “I’m gonna be honest, I know like, _nothing_ about coffee. But my boss is working on a pretty massive order — I work at the bakery across the street _Hollywood_? — and he insists he can handle it but I’m pretty sure he’ll be here until well after midnight. Figured I’d help him out and pick up some caffeine. You don’t sell coffee in bulk or anything, do you? Like those huge cardboard boxes Starbucks gives out for catering?”

Logan tries not to flinch at the mention of the coffee chain. He glances at the mugs they have for sale, a quickly collection Bailey orders from Etsy shops. There’s one large travel mug left, big enough to hold three normal cups or so.

“If you’re willing to shell out an extra twenty for this I can make it in here,” Logan offers, and the man nods.

“Sounds good. Um, I’m not really sure what kind? He likes frappaccinos…”

“Frappaccinos aren’t coffee.”

The man blinks, “Oh. Okay. Um…something sweet, I guess?”

Logan sighs.

He’s one of _those_ customers.

“How about I make you something strong and leave a little room at the top?” He offers, “There’s a milk and sugar station just behind you, feel free to add anything you want.”

The man grins, “Sounds perfect.”

He hands over his card, and Logan glances at the name — _Clark Sawyer_ — as he rings it up. No relation to the mysterious _Julian_ who owns the bakery, evidently.

“This is a cute place you have here,” Clark says, glancing around at the shelves of books around them, “Old school. I like it.”

Logan doesn’t bother replying. He’s not much for small talk, but that doesn’t seem to bother Clark.

“You should stop by the bakery some time,” he offers, his fingers drifting over the spine of Logan’s favorite Hemmingway, “J’s always giving out free samples, I’m sure he’d be willing to give you something.”

“Not really a sweets person.”

“Oh,” Clark frowns, puzzled, “I thought you guys sold…?”

“Too many allergies. I trust Merril. Don’t trust strangers.”

“Well Julian’s always up for a challenge. Let him know what you can’t eat, I’m sure he’d love to come up with something.”

“Maybe,” Logan hands the man the finished coffee, leaves the lid off for him to add cream and sugar. He watches, mildly in horror, as Clark fills it to the brim with vanilla-flavored creamer, then rip open no less than _five_ sugar packets and stir those in as well.

“Thanks!” He chirps, cheerfully, and the bell on the door chimes as he leaves.

He’d _ruined_ Logan’s coffee.

The absolute monster.

Three days later, the teenage regulars stop in, chatting as always. Logan turns to serve them, almost as the first drink started, when he sees the cupcakes in their hands. They’re red velvet — the _worst_ flavor, really, just chocolate dyed red — with glittery fondant stars on top, and they make Logan inexplicably angry.

“No outside food,” he says sternly, and the teenagers look surprised, “Shop rules.”

“We ordered a pizza last month,” one of them says, “You signed for the delivery.”

“New policy.”

The pair looks at each other, “So…do you want us to throw it out, then?”

“Up to you.”

They look puzzled, like they’re not quite sure if Logan’s joking. But when his expression doesn’t waver they frown, turn and back out of the café without another word.

“What the hell, Logan?” Thad asks, frowning, “They’re some of our best customers!”

“Do you want to stay employed, Thaddeus?”

Perhaps he is going too far.

It’s not like the bakery owners have ever been intentionally malicious. The only one Logan’s ever even met is Clark, and he’d seemed nice enough.

Even if he’d absolutely destroyed Logan’s carefully-created coffee with copious amounts of cream and sugar.

It’s a Tuesday. Two in the afternoon. After the lunch rush, but before the steady stream of post-work customers. Logan’s just dismissed Merril, and Bailey isn’t expected back from lunch for another half-hour.

“What can I get for you today?” He says without looking up, when the bell on the door chimes.

“Coffee, room for cream,” says a pleasant voice, “And I’m actually looking for someone…Logan Wright?”

“That’s me,” Logan sets down the mug he’d been wiping clean and looks up.

Well.

Isn’t this is lucky day.

The customer is _gorgeous_. Beautiful to the point Logan’s _very_ grateful he’s already put down the coffee cup; he’s fairly certain he would’ve dropped it out of shock otherwise.

“You’re Logan?” The man says, stepping closer to the counter, “You own this place, right?”

“I do. Is there something I can help you with.”

“Yeah, actually,” the man leans forward beside the cash register, resting his forearms against the counter, “I heard a rumor about you.”

Well.

That could go either way, really.

“You did?” Logan tries to play it cool, raises one eyebrow, “And what rumor is that, exactly?”

“That you can’t stand me.”

Logan frowns, “I’m…sorry? I don’t _know_ you.”

“Oh, right, how rude of me,” the man straightens, holds one hand out and grins, “Julian Larson. Owner and head baker, _Hollywood Cakery_.”

Logan blinks.

Julian’s smile doesn’t waver. He leaves his hand in the air, cocks one eyebrow as if daring Logan to decline his handshake.

“ _You’re_ Julian Larson?”

“Pretty sure.”

“You own the cake place?”

“Bakery.”

“You’re the guy who plays loud music.”

Julian frowns, “It’s not _that_ loud. Clark’s in a band, we play their EP sometimes.”

“This block was quiet before you moved in.”

“It was _boring_ before we moved in. Probably why we got such a good deal on the rent.”

“You’ve been stealing customers.”

Julian rolls his eyes, “Like hell we have. If anything, you’ve _gained_ customers because of us. Do you know how many times I’ve had a customer wander over while they wait for me to finish decorating?”

“Do _you_ know how many of your customers re-shelve our books wrong? Or try to order _frappaccinos_ and _macchiatos?”_

 _“_ Have you considered selling frappaccinos and macchiatos?”

Logan grits his teeth, “Get out.”

“No. I want to know why you hate me.”

“Because you’re _loud_ ,” Logan repeats, “And your customers are obnoxious.”

“I think _you_ just don’t like happiness.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Fine,” Julian crosses his arms over his chest, “Let’s start, then. Food allergies?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do. You have. Any. Food allergies?”

Logan blinks, “Why?”

“So I can convince you I’m not all that bad through cakes, obviously.”

“I don’t want a cake.”

“Tough shit.”

The bell on the door rings again, and Logan glances past Julian to see Bailey in early from his lunch break. He pauses awkwardly in the doorway, looking between Julian and Logan. Julian doesn’t budge, makes a frustrated noise at Logan’s continued silence.

“Do you have any food allergies or not? Dietary restrictions? Vegan? Gluten-free?”

Bailey clears his throat, “Shellfish. And peanuts.”

Julian turns over his shoulder, and Logan can see just the corner of a bright smile, “Thank you, Bailey.”

He shoots Logan one more glare, then spins around and flounces out of the café. Bailey steps aside, holding the door for him as he leaves. When he turns back to Logan, he looks fittingly nervous.

“Bailey,” Logan says, slowly, “How did he know your name?”

“…I really like their candy apples.”

“You’re fired.”

Logan turns away from the counter, grabs a bag of beans a little more aggressively than necessary.

“…really?”

“Just shut up and start the inventory, would you?”

Julian returns the same time the next day. This time, Logan’s not alone — Spencer’s working the counter, smiles cheerily and greets Julian by name when he walks in.

Hm. So _all_ his employees are traitors.

“Is your boss here?” Julian asks, and Logan can see the small white box in his hands through the bookshelf he’s standing behind. Spencer glances over at the books, and Logan frantically gestures at him to _lie, for the love of god, lie_.

“Logan!” Spencer calls out, “You have a visitor!”

 _Bitch_.

Logan sighs, sets down the three copies of _Jane Eyre_ he’d been trying to fit onto a shelf and wanders over. Julian looks a little smug, holds up the pastry box in his hand and shakes it like it’s some sort of prize.

“I told you I didn’t want cake,” he says, but Julian just slides the box across the counter.

“Well I made you one,” he says, “And I’m not leaving until you try it.”

“Well get comfortable, then.”

He expects Julian to give up. He’s got nothing to gain from this, no reason to _actually_ care what Logan thinks of his baking.

But the asshole calls Logan’s bluff. He grabs one of the stools from the coffee bar, dragging it across the floor. When he takes a seat, it’s six inches from the register. He drops his elbows to the counter, rests his chin on his palms, and _waits_.

“Oh, for the love of…” Logan sighs, tugs the green bow off the pastry box and flips it open.

Oh.

_Oh._

Merril had mentioned Julian’s decorating ability, he remembers, after he’d taught her how to pipe rosettes onto her pastries. But frosting flowers have _nothing_ on what he’s created here.

It’s a _book_. Made out of _cake_. Perfectly sculpted, the cover looking almost _precisely_ like worn leather, with gold filagree bindings and actual _pages_. It’s almost unfathomable how realistic it looks, and Logan wonders how many hours Julian had spent on it.

“Do you like it?” Julian asks, looking a little hopeful, “I know a lot of people are really anti-fondant, but I didn’t have the time to work with anything more finicky…I promise the actual cake is good.”

“You can _eat_ this?” Logan asks, incredulous, “It looks like a _sculpture_.”

“Of course you can eat it. It’s a _cake_.”

“How the hell did you do these buckle things?”

“It’s pastillage.”

“It’s what?”

Julian laughs, pulls a fork out of his pocket and hands it over, “Just try it, alright? I promise, if you don’t like it I’ll…I’ll stop playing music.”

Logan takes the fork, feels almost _guilty_ ruining the cake when he scoops up a small corner. He brings the bite to his mouth, takes a delicate taste.

 _Holy shit_.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he blurts out, unable to stop himself. Julian looks absolutely delighted.

“It’s coffee cake,” he says, happily, “That’s espresso buttercream between the layers. With a little bit of — ”

“Raspberry,” Logan says, “Wow. This is…alright, you win.”

Julian bounces a little on his stool, “You like it, then?”

“I do. I give up. Play music as much as you want.”

Julian laughs, “I didn’t actually realize it was that loud. We can turn it down. Just trying to help Clark out, you know? Free advertising.”

“…is that really his band?”

“Mm-hm.”

“They’re pretty good,” Logan admits, scooping up another forkful of cake, “I mean, I _would_ appreciate you turning the volume down. People read in here, you know.”

“I think we can manage that.”

Logan’s a little embarrassed to admit it, but he eats the whole cake. He can _feel_ Spencer grinning at him after Julian leaves, sees the look Merril shoots him when she finds the empty box in the trash later that afternoon. But he pays them no mind.

He’s got his own project to work on.

When Derek comes in the next day to help with the accounting, he takes one look at the menu board and snorts. Merril sees it not long after and giggles. Bailey pauses, examines it curiously for a few moments.

He’s not sure which one of them tells Julian.

The man wanders in a little after noon, his eyes focusing on the new addition to the menu almost instantly. He’s grinning like a fool when he walks to the counter, and Logan pushes the others away to stand in front of the register himself.

“Hi,” Julian says, his eyes sparkling.

“Hi,” Logan says, “What can I get you today?”

Julian tilts his head, as if considering, “Hm…well, I _was_ going to order a vanilla latte. But I think I’ll try one of these _frappaccino_ things. Sounds interesting.”

“It is,” Logan grabs a cup, “It’s new this week, you know.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Mm-hm,” Logan tells him, “See, someone showed me recently that change can be a good thing.”

“Oh yeah?” Julian grins, watching as Logan fixes his drink, “Must be someone really smart.”

“Must be.”

Logan tops off the drink with a generous helping of whipped cream, drizzles a flavored syrup over the top and plops a straw into the cup before handing it off to Julian. The man grins, drags a finger through the cream and licks it before pausing.

“Is this…”

“Raspberry drizzle.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Logan’s not sure why he feels so _warm_ all of a sudden, but he doesn’t dislike the feeling.

“…so you don’t hate me anymore, then?”

“Guess not.”

“Well in that case, I may have to stop by more. Keep bribing you with cake, you know.”

“Maybe we could make an arrangement, then?” Logan offers, “Frappaccinos for desserts?”

Julian grins, “Sounds good to me. Get ready to see me around a lot more.”

“I look forward to it.”


	64. Reconnecting

Logan’s never really been the type to feel nostalgic for his high school days. He hadn’t exactly had many friends, back in those days, had been _relieved_ to move on to college, to a real job, to a life without unnecessary drama where he’s forced to interact with people he doesn’t like who don’t like him.

It happens as he’s driving home, flipping through radio stations in search of something decent to listen to. He doesn’t even _like_ the song, hadn’t even in high school when he’d performed it as a solo with his high school choir. But somehow it sends a flood of emotions through him, thinking about his teenage years.

He’s kept in touch with Derek, throughout the years. They don’t see each other as often as they had before, but he keeps up with Derek’s progress through graduate school, through his promotions and his new engagement.

But the rest? The choir, who had once taken up so much of his time, a string of casual ex-boyfriends, chemistry partners and classmates? Those boys, he hasn’t thought of in years. It isn’t really all that surprising — he hadn’t exactly been the most popular student at school. Besides, despite what so many television shows and movies want people to believe, it’s really not common to still know all your childhood friends decades down the line.

Still, the nostalgia is strong enough that Logan heads up to his closet when he gets home, digs through the boxes strewn around the floor. He finds his old school blazer, now far too small in the shoulders. His choir pin. A few mementos that had seemed so important in high school — concert ticket stubs, handwritten notes, photographs.

He pauses at one photo, stares down at the three teenage boys laughing at the camera, their arms thrown around each other.

Him.

Derek.

Julian Larson.

He feels a twinge of something that almost feels like _sadness_ spread through his chest. Julian’s another one of the classmates he’d fallen out of touch with. But Julian’s _different_ , had been one of Logan’s absolute best friends back in school. He’d tried to maintain contact, for the first few years — the three of them had spent a week or two together the summer after graduation, had kept up a short-lived group chat for a year or so.

But Julian had dreams loftier than them all, had wanted so badly to be an _actor_. He’d moved to Los Angeles immediately following high school graduation, had gone on a series of auditions, had taken acting classes and fought to get meetings with agents.

Less than a year after high school, he’d texted them in excitement, telling them he’d just booked a leading role in a blockbuster superhero movie.

That had been the last Logan heard from him.

The movie was a raging success, of course. Julian had proved more talented than any of them could have ever guessed back then. He’d absolutely blown up in Hollywood, had been touted as the newcomer of the decade and gotten offers for dozens of major film roles right off the bat. Eventually, his number had changed, and Logan really had no way of contacting him after that.

It had been heartbreaking, of course, to lose a friend so close. But Logan had gotten over it, mostly, only feeling the slightest sadness when he saw Julian’s face on the cover of a magazine, on a billboard, on a movie screen.

He can’t believe they’d been such good friends, once.

Logan sets the photo aside, separate from the other items. He reaches into the box, pulls out the last item inside — a yearbook.

He spends some time flipping through the pages, laughing at the youthful faces of his classmates. They all look so _young_ , so innocent, and he reads through the senior pages, where they’d all listed their career goals. Most of them hadn’t made it, of course, at least not yet. Derek’s come close, and Logan’s current position as a political analyst is close enough to his high school dream of _State Senator_ , he supposes. _Actor_ is written under Julian’s name, and Logan remembers trying to convince him how impossible of a dream that would be.

There’s group pictures of the extracurriculars he’d been in, a whole page devoted to the fencing team. So many young faces, so much hope in all of them.

He flips the last page, and frowns.

He remembers not asking anyone to sign his yearbook, way back then. Hadn’t wanted to keep up small talk while people scrawled _have a great summer!_ or _Stay in touch!_

It hadn’t seemed important, back then.

Still, there’s something there, written across the back inside cover. It takes up almost the whole page, and the loopy handwriting seems familiar. He looks down to the bottom, frowns at the large signature at the end.

_Julian Larson_

When had Julian signed his yearbook? _Why_ had Julian signed his yearbook?

He leans back against the wall, props the book up against a raised knee, and reads.

 

_Logan -_

_I really hope you don’t find this right away. I’d really like to be several states away by the time you read this, because I’m not sure I could handle the humiliation of hearing your response. I’m not going to try to be poetic about this. You know how bad I am at things like this. So here it goes -_

_I love you. I know that sounds crazy. I know it doesn’t change anything. But I hated the idea of graduating without ever telling you._

_I don’t expect anything, just to be clear. It’s just that last week, you were talking about how worried you were that you’d never find anyone who loved you, who wanted to spend the rest of their life with you. And I want you to know that’s not true. Because_ I _do. And I know you’ll find someone soon, someone who loves you the way you deserve. And even though part of me wishes that could be me, another part knows it never will be._

_We graduate tomorrow morning. My flight leaves a few hours after. I know you and Derek think it’s crazy, but I need to give this acting thing a shot. If there’s a chance I’m wrong, if you’re interested at all, I’m staying at the Kipling building in Koreatown. If you’re not, we never have to talk about this again. I’ll understand._

 

Logan doesn’t know what to think.

He stares at the page, lets his fingers trace over the _I love you_. He’d had no idea, never gotten the slightest indication from Julian that he was interested in him, that he was interested in men at _all_. He’s not sure how he’d never noticed this — had he really never looked through his yearbook, back then? He sets it aside, looks back down to the picture of the three of them.

Julian’s leaning a little closer to him than he is to Derek, he notices. His head is tucked up against Logan’s shoulder, his arm tight around Logan’s waist. He’s looking up, a little, smiling at _Logan_ rather than the camera.

He calls Derek.

“ _Hello_?”

“Was Julian in love with me?” Logan asks, with absolutely no preamble.

“… _what_?”

“In high school,” Logan clarifies, “Julian Larson. Was he in love with me?”

“… _I gotta tell you, Logan, this is the weirdest phone call I’ve ever gotten.”_

“Could you answer the question?”

There’s a long, silent pause, and Logan half-wonders if Derek’s hung up on him.

_“…I always kind of thought he might have been.”_

“Are you serious?”

“ _It was the way he looked at you,”_ Derek continues, _“And remember all the stuff he used to do to help you with guys you liked? How he’d talk you up to them until they agreed to go out with you_?”

“He did that?”

_“You didn’t know?”_

_“_ …no. I didn’t.”

“ _Oh. Well. He did. Can I ask what’s bringing this up all of a sudden? I don’t think I’ve heard from Julian in five years.”_

“He wrote in my yearbook,” Logan says, “I didn’t see it until just now. He said he loved me. Told me to let him know if he had a shot or ignore it.”

 _“Oh, shit,”_ Derek mutters, _“Is that why he was acting so weird in the Hamptons that summer? He thought you were rejecting him_?”

Logan’s stomach sinks, “Oh my god. He must’ve…”

“ _Shit, man. Sucks._ ”

“What should I do?”

“ _What do you mean, what should you do? I don’t have his number anymore. I’m pretty sure he’s moved on by now, it’s been years_.”

“I don’t want him to think I was blowing him off! What if that’s the whole reason he stopped talking to us?”

_“I think part of it might have been the fact that he was doing three major films at one time.”_

“Still. Wouldn’t you kind of want to know?”

“ _…I’m not sure, really_.”

“Well I am,” Logan says, resolutely, “I have to tell him I never saw it.”

Unfortunately, contacting Julian isn’t exactly easy. As his fame had expanded, so had his security — Logan finds an interview where he admits to changing his phone number twice a year, mentions how he doesn’t monitor his own social media or read the comments to anything.

There _is,_ however, an article online about his latest home purchase — a sprawling, fourteen million dollar estate nestled alongside a cliff in Malibu. It’s a start, at least, even if Logan doesn’t exactly have much of a plan for what he’ll do when he gets there.

Derek tries to talk him out of it, still — tells Logan that Julian might not even _remember_ , that it’s been _years_ , that Logan might not even get to see him before Julian’s security tosses him out — but Logan doesn’t listen.

He hates the idea that there’s someone out there, someone he once considered one of his closest friends, who might hate him for something he didn’t even do.

Something he didn’t _mean_ to do, at least.

Julian’s property is lined with a ten foot tall fence, when he arrives. He has the cab driver drop him alongside the street, shoulders the one small duffel bag he’d packed when he left. There’s a gate, at the end of a long driveway, with a keypad and a call button.

He presses it.

A hiss of static, then an unfamiliar voice: “ _Hello_?”

“Yeah, um,” Logan clears his throat, “I’m looking for Julian Larson? I’m a friend of his.”

“ _You’re not on my list.”_

 _“_ Yeah,” Logan shuffles a bit where he stands, “It’s been a while. Could you just give him the name Logan Wright?”

“ _Look, buddy, a lot of people claim to be an old friend. Thing is, Mr. Larson’s never actually heard of most of them_.”

“Please,” Logan insists, “It’s Logan. Logan Wright, from high school.”

The voice doesn’t respond for some time. When it does, Logan can hear the slight note of confusion.

 _“Come on in, Mr. Wright_.”

There’s a loud buzz, and the gates swing open in front of him. Logan hurries through, starts the walk up the long driveway leading to the house. It’s quite a walk — Logan can’t even _see_ the house through the palm trees dotting the front lawn — and he’s only just nearing the front door when it swings open, and a still-familiar figure steps outside.

Julian stills when he locks eyes with Logan. Logan can see the expressions shift across his face — recognition, confusion…excitement, maybe?

Logan moves a little closer, stops about ten feet away.

“…hi,” he says, a little awkwardly, “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me…”

“Of course I remember you, Logan.”

His voice sounds the same. He _looks_ the same, really — his hair may be a little shorter, and he’s filled out a little more, but overall he’s the same Julian that Logan remembers. He’s _staring_ , and Logan doesn’t quite remember what he came here to say.

“…not to be rude, Logan, but why are you here?”

Logan hesitates, “I’m guessing _wanted to catch up with an old friend_ isn’t gonna cut it?”

“We haven’t spoken in _years_.”

“I’m not the one who changed my number.”

Julian sighs, “Really, Logan. Why are you here?”

Logan’s not exactly sure how to answer. So in lieu of an actual reply, he unzips his bag, pulls out the yearbook that prompted this whole trip, and holds it out. Julian looks confused, at first, takes it from Logan’s hand and flips through. He glances at the last page, slams the book shut and takes a deep breath.

“…do you want to come in?” He asks, not quite meeting Logan’s eyes, “If we’re gonna talk about this, I’m probably going to need a drink.”

Logan follows him inside. He’s silent as Julian leads him to the kitchen, as he grabs a bottle and a glass and fills it before taking a long sip. Julian opens the yearbook once more, sits quietly as he reads through his message from so many years ago. He sighs once he’s done, taking one more deep sip of his drink before he looks back to Logan.

“I don’t remember it sounding quite this pathetic,” he admits, “Pretty sure seventeen-year-old me thought it was at least a little bit romantic.”

“Julian…” Logan takes the yearbook from his hand, leans forward across the counter, “I never saw it.”

“…what?”

“I never saw it,” Logan repeats, “I must’ve never opened — I had _no_ idea you wrote that until last week.”

Julian blinks, “You…really?”

“I swear. I had no _clue_ , Julian, and I hate thinking that — I hate thinking that the whole reason we stopped being friends is because you thought I was blowing you off.”

Julian looks stunned, for a moment. Then, his shoulders relax, and he lets out a light, airy laugh.

“You have _no_ idea,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “No _clue_ how much much better that makes me feel. God, I thought — I was _so_ upset, you know? Because even though I told you not to — I thought we were good enough friends that you would’ve said _something_ , even if it wasn’t good.”

“I would’ve,” Logan tells him, “I wouldn’t have just…god, Jules, I wouldn’t have just ignored you like that!”

Julian smiles, softly, “Nobody’s called me that in years.”

“What, Jules?”

“Yeah. I get _J_ , a lot. But never Jules,” he glances down at the yearbook, “You really never knew?”

“Not even a little. You really…you _loved_ me?”

“God, I was crazy about you,” Julian admits, “When we spent that week in the Hamptons and you didn’t say a word, I…I didn’t think I’d ever get over it. I didn’t know I could hurt that much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“Still. We should’ve tried harder, when you stopped talking to us. I think Derek and I just both assumed you got too busy for us.”

“I was busy,” Julian says, “But I also…I guess I thought it’d be easier to get over you if I cut you out.”

“Was it?”

Julian shakes his head, “No. It sucked. Went through a phase where everyone I dated was tall and blonde with pretty eyes.”

“…you think I have pretty eyes?”

Julian looks up at him. Somehow, that’s what lightens the mood. They both laugh, and Julian grabs another glass from the cupboard, mixes up a drink and slides it over.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, smiling softly, “I mean, I…I mostly got over it, I think. Talked about it in therapy for a little while. Not because of _you_ ,” he hurries to add, at Logan’s horrified look, “I went for a lot of reasons. But I talked about you. About…feeling like I wasn’t good enough, because you didn’t even want to tell me no.”

“I’m not sure I would’ve.”

“…not sure you would’ve told me?”

“Not sure it would’ve been a no.”

Julian swallows, “No. No, this is one of the things we discussed in therapy. That you _never_ showed any interest, that it wasn’t fair for me to…it would’ve been a no. I know it would’ve.”

“I thought you were straight, Julian,” Logan says, “I didn’t even…it wasn’t until that rumor about you and Sawyer that I even considered you might not be.”

“…have you been reading TMZ articles?”

“I might click on things with your name, sometimes.”

Julian smiles, “I never dated Clark.”

“Even though he’s tall and blonde and has pretty eyes?”

“I met him _after_ I decided that wasn’t a healthy way to live anymore.”

“Look, what I meant is…I think if I’d _known_ , I probably would’ve been interested.”

“Logan…”

“I mean it,” Logan insists, “I mean, _look_ at you.”

“Well good to know you think I’m attractive, at least.”

“I trusted you. I thought you were funny. You made me feel…the point is, I kind of wished you’d actually said something. Or that I’d actually read what you wrote, before it was too late.”

Julian smiles, just softly, “Well. I can’t change that now. Neither of us can.”

“…will you go to dinner with me?”

Julian looks thrown by the question. He pauses, blinks at Logan a few times in confusion, “Excuse me?”

“I know it’s been a while. I know we’re different people. But why not give it a shot, you know?”

“…I’m seeing someone.”

“…oh,” Logan looks away, clears his throat, “Sorry, I didn’t…of course you are.”

“Her name is Isabel,” Julian says, “We’re doing a movie together. It comes out next month.”

“Right,” Logan’s not quite sure _why_ he feels so disappointed. He hadn’t intended to ask Julian on a _date_ when he came out here, hadn’t even considered it…but somehow being here, _seeing_ him again…he needed to try.

But Julian’s dating someone.

Of _course_ he’s dating someone.

“Logan,” Julian smiles, looking amused, “We’re doing a _movie_ together. It’s for publicity, that’s all.”

“Oh. Oh, so…”

“So I can’t be seen with someone else publicly. Not for a few weeks, at least.”

“Oh,” Logan says, “So…so then…”

“If you’re really still interested in being friends, maybe we could try coffee? I’m not sure how long you plan on staying…”

“I booked a one-way ticket. Wasn’t sure if you’d kick me out right away or if I’d have a few hours.”

“Well,” Julian says, “I don’t have anything going on the rest of the day. Maybe we could order some Chinese? Catch up?”

Logan smiles, “I’d like that.”

"Yeah. I would too."

Logan reaches across the counter, takes Julian's hand in his own, "I really missed you, you know."

"I missed you too," Julian says, squeezing just slightly, "And there's probably a lot we need to talk about. I want to know how Derek's doing, too. But first..."

"Food?"

Julian laughs, "Yeah. First, food."


	65. Teacher/Student(ish)

Logan’s fairly used to being hit on by his students. It’s one of the drawbacks of being such a young teacher, a bit of a testament to his good looks. He’d never actually _entertain_ the idea, of course — he may only be twenty-three, but his students are _teenagers_. _Kids_. Besides, it’s just a crush for them, an odd fantasy stemming from years of odd internet pornography.

But Alexander Armstrong is a whole different case.

The boy had transferred in midway through the semester, a bit of an oddity. He’d been placed in Logan’s sixth-period government class, had taken the only free seat in the back corner of the room. He’s a good enough student — he pays attention in class, turns in all his assignments on time, answers the questions Logan poses to the room.

But the way he _stares_.

Alexander has a penchant for cherry lollipops, and Logan’s more than once caught the boy absolutely _fellating_ one, staring straight at him and smirking the moment their eyes meet.

It’s horribly inappropriate, and Logan’s not sure what to do about it. He almost wants to believe he’s imagining it, that his students' actions are nothing but innocent. Alexander is abnormally attractive, after all, and Logan half-fears he’s unfairly stereotyping him.

But then Alexander starts turning in his assignments with _hearts_ doodled over it, starts shooting Logan these _looks_ as he leaves his classroom, and Logan knows he’s not imagining it.

He’s at a complete loss. He’s dealt with student crushes before, had to change his behavior minutely, act a little more professional in class until the crush waned. But Alexander is _overt_ with his come-hither looks and the way his lips curl around his _Mr. Wright_ ’s.

It doesn’t take long for it to escalate even further.

Logan nearly leaps out of his skin the day he turns around after class, finds Alexander perched on the corner of his desk.

“Did I scare you, Mr. Wright?” He asks, a pointed pink tongue darting out to lick across his lower lip.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Armstrong?” Logan asks, maintaining a fair distance, “I’m sure Ms. Portman is expecting you in English.”

Alexander grins, “You know my schedule?”

“Us teachers do _talk_ to each other, you know,” Logan tells him, “She’s lectured me more than once. Apparently it’s _my_ fault you’re always late to her class.”

“Well it’s so hard to tear myself away,” Alexander says, and Logan doesn’t miss the way his voice dips, the way he spreads his legs against the desk, “Ms. Portman is pretty and all, but she’s no _you_.”

Logan clears his throat, “Look, Mr. Armstrong…”

“Alex, please,” his student purrs.

“ _Mr. Armstrong_ ,” Logan says again, firmly, “I understand that students your own age can feel boring, sometimes. But this is hardly appropriate. I am your _teacher_.”

“You won’t always be.”

“You’re a teenager. A _child,”_ Logan continues, and Alexander’s face actually _falls_ , “I need you to respect my authority, alright? I’m sorry if this hurts your feelings. But you need to get to Ms. Portman’s class now. Please.”

Alexander tears his eyes away. He nods, slides of the desk.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wright,” he says, gathering up his bag, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He slinks out of the room without a second glance, and Logan feels just the slightest bit guilty. It had been necessary, of course, but part of him feels like he just broke the poor boy’s heart.

He only hopes Alexander springs back from that kind of thing quickly.

Logan tries not to think about it too hard over his weekend. He grades papers, catches up on some television, makes Christmas plans with Michelle. He only thinks about Alexander once or twice, idly, hopes he’ll be his usual bright self in class on Monday.

But when Monday rolls around, Alexander’s seat is empty. Logan hesitates, before starting class, wonders if he’s been out all day or if he’s just skipped this class specifically. He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it, gives his lecture as best he can while worrying about the boy.

There’s an e-mail, waiting for him after class, from the administration — that, effective immediately, Alexander Armstrong has withdrawn from all of his courses. That he’ll no longer be a student at this school.

Logan feels sick.

This is his fault. He knows it is. He’d been too harsh, hurt Alexander’s feelings, caused him to _withdraw from school_.

But he also knows there’s nothing he could’ve done — he couldn’t have _entertained_ the boy’s feelings, couldn’t have actually done anything to imply reciprocation for his affections.

So Logan puts it out of his mind. He teaches his class. He goes home for Christmas. He starts the new semester, ignores the empty desk in the back of his sixth-period class.

Mid-way through April, he finds his first class of the day _giggling_. He’s not unaccustomed to something like that, often has to convince the students to _listen_ rather than gossip about whatever party they’d gone to last weekend. This time, though, they seem to be laughing _his_ way, smirking at something on their phones.

“Okay,” he says, annoyed, “What is it?”

One of his students snickers, and Logan tries not to feel overly annoyed at a teenager.

“Have you heard of Julian Larson, Mr. Wright?”

Logan blinks, “Is he a politician? Because if not, I don’t understand why you’re talking about him in my class.”

“He’s an actor,” a girl says, “In that new Marvel movie? He just did an interview with Jimmy Kimmel. You should watch it.”

“And _you_ should tell me about the implications of _Marbury v. Madison_. Now, please.”

Logan doesn’t think about it again until lunch. He releases his class, relaxes at his desk chair and pulls out the sandwich he’d packed for himself before school. His computer’s up in front of him, and out of curiosity, he navigates to YouTube. He’s only typed in the _J-u-l_ when the suggestion pops up — _Julian Larson on Jimmy Kimmel_.

He clicks on the video.

And promptly spits out his coffee.

It’s _Alexander_ , sitting on the stage. His _student_ Alexander. The Alexander who’d hit on him, who he’d chased away. The Alexander now being referred to as _Julian Larson_.

Logan pauses the video, takes a deep breath before starting it over.

“ _…please welcome Julian Larson!”_

There’s a round of thunderous applause, cheers and screams as a young man saunters out. He smirks at the audience, waves, blows a kiss. He leans into shake Jimmy’s hand, smiles as he takes his seat.

Logan watches as Alexander — as _Julian_ — smiles, as he talks about that new superhero movie Logan hasn’t had time to see yet, about a movie _he_ stars in.

“ _So I understand you actually went undercover to do research for this role?”_

Julian laughs, “ _I did, yes.”_

_“Undercover as…what, a vigilante superhero?”_

A smattering of laughter, and Julian grins _, “No I…so I was home-schooled, you know. Got my GED on set when I was sixteen. But since I was playing a high-school student, the studio thought might be useful if I knew what high school was actually like.”_

_“So they actually sent you to school, is that what you’re saying?”_

_“Yeah, they did. Some pretentious private prep school and everything. It was…it was surprisingly hard, actually? They only made me stay for a month, but I was barely scraping by with B’s.”_

Jimmy laughs, “ _What, and nobody knew? I mean, you’ve been in movies before_.”

“ _I have, yeah. But it’s weird, y’know, how people don’t recognize you if you’re trying to go incognito? I changed my hair a little bit, wore glasses…nobody said a word.”_

_“Wow. That’s crazy. The teachers didn’t even know?”_

_“I guess not,”_ Julian says, _“I kind of assumed they’d tell the administration, but none of them seemed to notice either. And there was this one…god.”_

_“Oh hot for teacher, hm?”_

The audience laughs. Logan’s glued to his screen.

 _“He was just…literally my perfect man, I think,”_ Julian sips at a glass of water, shakes his head like he’s in disbelief, “ _I practically threw myself at him. But he clearly thought I was just a regular teenager, because I got this lecture about inappropriate relationships and like…respecting myself and shit.”_

He’s talking about Logan, _god_.

“ _I mean that’s probably a good thing, right?”_ Jimmy asks, “ _I mean, you do look like a teenager.”_

 _“Oh no, no, he was a great guy,”_ Julian says, “ _I kinda wish he had known, though. Kinda sucks when you meet the guy of your dreams when you’re pretending to be his seventeen-year-old student.”_

_“But you’re not now, right? That whole cover is blown.”_

_“You’re not wrong,”_ Julian grins, turns to the camera and smirks, “ _If you’re watching this, Mr. Wright, my name’s actually Julian. Surprise. And I’m not a teenager. I’ll be twenty-one next week. So if you’re interested now, you should call me. The administration should have my number.”_

The audience lets out a collective whoop, and Julian grins as he settles back in his seat.

Logan closes out of the video.

What the _fuck_.

So this Julian is an _actor_. Had only pretended to be one of Logan’s students for a role, hadn’t _actually_ been a teenager. He’s closer to _Logan’s_ age, really, and Logan finds himself googling Julian, just to be sure.

Looking at his Wikipedia page, he can’t believe he hadn’t recognized him. The list of films he’s been in is extensive, and Logan knows he’s seen more than one. But somehow he’d looked so _different_ as a student, had lightened his hair and let it fall over his face, had held himself differently, had _spoken_ differently.

And, if his date of birth is correct, he’s turning twenty-one in four days.

Logan’s not quite sure what to think.

There’s a knock on his door just then — odd, when he doesn’t have a class immediately following lunch — and he looks up just as Bailey, who teaches the class across the hall from him, steps inside.

“Yes?” Logan asks, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism, like he hasn’t just had the rug ripped out from under his feet.

“I assume you’ve seen it,” Bailey says, a little hesitant in the doorway, “The interview.”

“Did you know?”

Bailey shakes his head, “He wasn’t in my class. But my students were talking about it this morning. I saw it. I um…I went down to the administration office.”

He steps forward, places a single sheet of paper on Logan’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“I pulled his file. This is the contact information he gave us. There’s a phone number.”

“What makes you think I want to call him?”

Bailey shrugs, “Figured you’d want the option, at least. He did ask you to on national television.”

He leaves the paper on the desk, slips out of the room before Logan can argue. Logan sighs, pulls the paper toward him and stares at the number.

He’s not sure whether or not to call.

He’d thought Julian was a _teenager._ Thinking of him as an adult, as someone who Logan could actually _date_ …he struggles to process it.

But the number is taunting him, day after day. He finally punches it into his phone, hits call before he can second guess himself.

“ _Hello_?”

Logan recognizes the voice. The same voice that had greeted him with coy _good afternoon, Mr. Wright._ The same voice that had answered his questions about constitutional amendments. The same voice that had admitted, in front of an audience of millions, that Logan was his _dream man_.

“So,” Logan says, “It’s Julian, then?”

There’s a surprised burst of laughter, “ _Mr. Wright, is that you?”_

“Please. Logan.”

 _“Logan, then,”_ Julian says, his voice a low purr, “ _I wasn’t sure you’d call._ ”

“Neither was I.”

“ _Oh? So not interested, then?”_

“Well it’s kind of hard to think of you as a twenty-one year old man instead of a seventeen-year-old student. That was a lot to process, you know _.”_

 _“Ah,”_ Julian sounds almost apologetic, “ _Yeah. I kind of thought the teachers knew, actually? It wasn’t until you turned me down that I realized you had no clue_.”

“So all the flirting, then…?”

_“Was real. I thought you knew who I was. How old I was. Was kind of hoping for some teacher/student fantasy, you know?”_

“So I’m just a fantasy, then?”

“ _You saw the interview, didn’t you? Where I called you my dream man_?”

“I did.”

“ _And?”_

“I’m flattered, really.”

“ _But you’re not interested?”_

Logan hesitates, “I’m not sure.”

“ _Not sure_?”

“Well I don’t actually _know_ Julian Larson,” Logan explains, “I knew Alexander Armstrong.”

Julian laughs, “ _Well Julian Larson is pretty much the same. Better hair. No glasses. Older_. _But pretty much the same_.”

“I’ll probably have to see for myself,” Logan tells him, “Before I really make any decisions.”

There’s a long pause, “ _I’ll be in town again next week.”_

“Is that right?”

“ _If you want to get to know Julian Larson, that is.”_

“I suppose it would be rude to say no,” Logan says, “I hear you have a birthday coming up. I should probably at least buy you a drink to celebrate.”

 _“It’s only polite, really_.”

Logan laughs, “I um…let me know when you get in, alright? I’ll try to find a restaurant worthy of a famous actor.”

“ _I look forward to it_ ,” Julian says, _“Mr. Wright.”_


	66. Professors

Professor — _Doctor —_ Wright has a reputation.

Upperclassmen whisper about his classes, exchange knowing glances with each other when his name is brought up by some wide-eyed freshman. He’s brilliant, they say, more knowledgable than any other member of the political science faculty. But he’s a hardass, they warn — Wright has zero tolerance for any fooling around, will start his lecture the moment he steps through the door and talk until his TA stops him. His assignments are legendary, his exams impossible. He expects the best from his students, and they respect him enough to give it to him.

He’s known to be tight-lipped about his personal lives. Whereas other professors will mention their spouses, their children, Wright hasn’t slipped up even once when it comes to his home life. A student had asked, once, if he had plans for Spring Break. Wright had turned, slowly, had blinked at them as if he couldn’t believe someone dared speak to him about something other than the Monroe Doctrine.

Said student had dropped the class the following day. The empty chair hadn’t phased Wright in the slightest.

More than a few students find it amusing, then, that Wright’s office happens to be right beside Professor Larson’s. It’s not unusual, on their campus, for professors from different departments to have offices beside each other. But the odd dichotomy between the two, with Wright’s stoic broodiness and Larson’s — well, _Larson-ness —_ can be a bit jarring.

Professor Larson is brilliant in his own right, of course. Every student who takes his Modern Shakespeare class has some story of Larson leaping onto his desk, dramatically reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy or _all the world’s a stage_. He’s entertaining, funny, energetic.

And perhaps a _bit_ of an oversharer.

Larson’s lessons are full of personal anecdotes. It’s his way of relating to his students, of making them more comfortable performing in his class.

 _“My fiancé said I recite this scene in my sleep sometimes,_ ” he’d say with a smile, before quizzing his students on character motivations in _As You Like It_.

“ _Sorry I’m late, guys, my dumbass fiancé forgot to ask for his Pad Thai without peanuts even though he’s deathly allergic. Speaking of death, who wants to do the final scene of Romeo & Juliet?”_

On one particularly memorable occasion, Julian had full on skipped — _“he wasn’t skipping_ ”, a student would argue here, _“he was just walking with pizazz_ ” — into the room, grinned at the students gathered around him and announced that he’d be taking the week off.

“ _I’m getting married tomorrow_ ,” he’d said, his smile so bright it was almost disorienting, “ _Taking a little mini-honeymoon because we couldn’t wait until summer. So no class. Enjoy yourselves. I know I will be._ ”

Really, it’s only natural that some students would wonder whether or not the two professors would get along. Larson seems like the kind of person who would grate on Wright’s nerves, who would drive him absolutely insane with his constant talk. Wright, in turn, seems like the type who would bore Larson, who’d talk politics and economics until the other man actually fell asleep.

Of course, there’s a select few who know the truth.

Merril Portman, who’d served as Dr. Wright’s T.A. for three years, who’d seen Larson swing by with take-out containers as Wright pored over papers. Who’d watched the way Wright would squeeze Larson’s hand in thanks, the soft smile he’d get in return.

Reed Van Kamp, who sometimes sat by the river just outside of town to sketch — the same river that Larson and Wright liked to picnic at, apparently. He’d been shocked, at first, to see Larson laughing in the arms of _Dr. Wright_ , to watch the way Wright’s face softened as he dropped a kiss upon Larson’s hair.

And Kurt Hummel, who’d been working in his father’s garage the day Wright drove in, complaining about a faulty motor. He’d had the misfortune of telling Wright it couldn’t be fixed for a few days, not until a new part could be ordered. But Wright hadn’t complained — Kurt had watched, instead, as _Professor Larson_ picked him up, and he knows he hadn’t imagined the way they’d greeted each other with a kiss.

It’s why he sprints across the building, hurries down two flights of stairs and bursts into Dr. Wright’s classroom the day Professor Larson collapses in the middle of his class.

Wright barely lets him finish his sentence before he’s running from the room, taking the stairs two at a time as he rushes toward Larson’s lecture hall.

In hindsight, it hadn’t been a big deal. At least not enough to warrant all the drama.

It was obvious Professor Larson was fighting off some kind of cold — he’d looked a little pale, had dark circles under his eyes. He’d barely stood up for most of class, had slouched at his desk as if holding himself upright was an unfathomable feat of strength. He hadn’t fallen _too_ hard, really. He’d risen from his chair to make a point, swayed a little, then toppled sideways like a ragdoll. By the time Wright makes it to the classroom, someone’s already helped pull Larson into a sitting position.

Still, Wright rushes over. He wraps one arm around Larson’s waist, presses the back of the other hand to his forehead and makes a sound of annoyance.

“You’re burning up,” he says, frowning, “I _told_ you to stay home today, you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Larson says, waving him off, “Just stood up too fast. I did what you said, see? Been drinking so much orange juice I have to pee every hour.”

“Orange juice won’t help you fight off the _flu_ , Julian.”

Larson smiles weakly, “It might if I believe in it enough.”

Wright almost _growls_ at that, turns to the closest student and snaps, “Grab his bag for me, would you? I’m taking him home.”

The student jolts, picks up Larson’s bag from his desk and shoves his belongings in it, nearly spilling orange juice everywhere when he neglects to twist the cap shut. Wright stands, Larson cradled in his arms, and the student awkwardly hangs the bag over one of Wright’s broad shoulders.

“Feel better, Professor Larson!” One of the students calls as the pair leaves the room.

There’s a bit of a crowd in the hallway, when they turn — at least half of Wright’s class, curious enough to have followed him after the commotion. Wright stares. Blinks. Sighs.

“Clearly, class is canceled for today,” he says, shifting Larson’s body in his arms, “I expect you all to make up for it with some damn good talking points next time.”

His students part for him, pressing themselves against either side of the hallway and watching with wide eyes and baited breath as Dr. Wright carries Professor Larson from the building.

There’s a long silence, broken by the soft _“what the fuck_ ” of one of the gathered students.

Professor Larson sends an e-mail to his classes, thanking them for their concern and letting them know that _‘unfortunately I’ve been ordered to stay in bed for the rest of the week, please try to work on your group projects in my absence’_.

Wright, though, is right on time for his lecture the next day. He’s in place before his students even begin to trickle in, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed. He doesn’t say a word, though, not until the last student takes their seat. Then, he clears his throat, pushes himself away from the desk.

“I understand some of you may have seen part of my personal life the other day. I’d like to make it very clear that I prefer to keep my private life at home. Separate from all this. Are we clear?”

There’s an uneasy silence, for a beat, until Bailey Tipton clears his throat.

“We’re not sure what you’re talking about, Professor Wright,” he says, “We don’t know anything about your personal life. I think the current rumor is that you live in your office, actually. Don’t even bother with a real house.”

Wright stares at him. The corners of his lips twitch, almost as if he means to smile, but he schools his expression into his typical cool demeanor.

“That’s _Dr._ Wright, Mr. Tipton. Now, who can answer the questions I posted about _The Leviathan_?”

From then on, the rumors about Dr. Wright and Professor Larson are just that — rumors. The students who hadn’t been witness to the scene scoff at the idea, and the story changes so much nobody knows what to believe.

Wright keeps his reputation as a stoic professional. He and Larson barely interact in the halls, and the stories fade over time.

Until, of course, the day Wright strolls into class with a tiny, pink, bald infant strapped to his chest. He begins his lecture as he has any other day, steadfastly ignoring the wide-eyed stares from his students.

But then one, far in the back, vocalizes what they’re all thinking: “What the _fuck_?”

Wright cuts himself off mid-sentence, frowns up at the student with a look of disdain.

“Watch your language, would you?” He scolds, with a look so withering it sends the student shrinking in his seat, “There’s a _child_ present.”

 


	67. Hades/Persephone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls don't berate me for the inaccuracies to the actual mythology, that was a rabbit hole I wasn't prepared to go down.
> 
> This is a very loose interpretation.

His mother warned him about traveling too far from home.

“ _You’re beautiful_ ,” she’d tell him, her delicate fingers smoothing over his hair, “ _Beauty is dangerous, in this world_.”

He knows it’s the truth. Dolce’s beauty had been legendary, in her youth. Men had come from near and far to ask for her hand, and she’d rejected each and every one with a coy smile. She’d been waiting for something, she always said, something grand and magical and _different_.

And she’d found it, though not in the way she hoped.

His mother was smart. But she was no match for the gods.

She’d fallen in love with one, in the image of a young man, who came to her in midsummer and promised her a world of pretty things and happiness. She’d believed him, foolishly, had fallen with him on a bed of flowers and given him everything.

In return, he’d left her with a child in her belly. A fatherless child, a tiny, screaming thing with eyes the color of the sunset and skin that shone golden in the light. She’d loved him, as any mother would, though Julian can see the sadness in her eyes.

It’s why he hates the thought of disappointing her, of ignoring her one request.

But he’d been cursed with unbearable curiosity.

It’s a summer’s day, the sky a clear a blue, the wind cool on his face. Julian can’t help but wander, can’t help following the sparkling river through fields of dewy green grass and the rows of tall flowers blooming.

He’d been raised in this, in fields of flowers and sunshine.

Which is why it’s the darkness that catches his attention. It’s nestled in the rolling ridges of a moss-covered cliff, the dark mouth open as if calling out to him.

 _A cave_ , he thinks, the word coming to him from somewhere deep within. He’s never seen one before, but somehow he’s more sure of it than anything else. This is a _cave_.

He creeps forward, his bare feet near-silent as they slide across the grass. It takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light within the cave, and he hesitates, thinks about how disappointed his mother would be in him.

But perhaps she doesn’t have to know.

He steps inside.

There’s an odd, low rumbling sound around him. He remembers, idly, his childhood story of monsters , of gorgons and hydras and minotaurs. Somehow, though, he isn’t scared. He’s not sure what waits for him at the end of this cave. But something tells him it won’t harm him.

The path in front of him is long, winding. The light dims the further he travels from the mouth of the cave, and he drags his hand along the wall in an effort to keep straight. Before long he’s plunged into total darkness, and his steps stutter. This was a foolish choice. He should really turn back.

But before he can, there’s a noise from up ahead — heavy footfalls headed his way, breathing to match.

“Who’s there?” He calls, clinging to the wall beside him, “Who is that?”

The footsteps halt, and a deep voice echoes throughout the passageway.

“Turn away,” it says, commanding and powerful, “Go home. You don’t belong here.”

“Where is here?” Julian asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m no one,” the voice says, “This is nowhere. Now go home.”

“It’s _somewhere_ ,” Julian insists, “I’ve never — what’s down here?”

“It’s not for the eyes of mortals.”

“I’m not,” Julian tells him, “Mortal. Not fully.”

There’s a long pause, then a bright flash that makes Julian draw a hand over his eyes. They water, at the light, and he blinks several times before his eyes re-focus.

Before him stands a man.

No.

Not a man.

The figure standing behind him is tall, broad, his body illuminated by the flickering flame he holds in the palm of his hand. His hair must be sewn from the sun itself, his eyes a brighter green than anything Julian’s ever seen. His skin is pure porcelain, covered with little more than a thin cloth of dark silk. When he speaks, the sound is almost musical, like a siren song drawing Julian in.

“You’re Julian,” he says, his lips forming so beautifully over the name, “Dolce’s boy.”

“I am.”

The man’s eyes rake over Julian’s figure, and he shivers.

“I’ve heard tales,” he says, stepping closer, “They said you were more beautiful than Helen. Than Adonis.”

“Do they?” Julian can hardly _think_ , he’s so breathless.

“They didn’t do you justice,” the god says, one finger rising to graze down Julian’s cheek, “They’ll sing songs of you. Write tales. You’ll be remembered until the end of time.”

“You’re a god,” Julian finally manages to say, “Aren’t you?”

“I am,” the god steps back, the flame still dancing in his hand, “And not one of the kind ones. Return home, Julian. I’m sure your mother will be worried about you.”

He turns away, and Julian’s overcome by desperation, by a deep _need_ to keep the god close.

“Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which god are you?”

“Does it matter? I’m sure your mother’s warned you. Told you a thousand times to stay away from all of us. I can’t blame her. It can’t be an easy thing, to be left raising a half-mortal child alone.”

“She did the best she could,” Julian says, perhaps a little too defensively.

“Which is why you need to _go home_ ,” the god stresses, “I won’t be the one to explain to Dolce that her beloved son got himself lost in the Underworld.”

“The Underworld? Is that what this leads to?”

“It is. You understand why I can’t let you go further.”

“Than that would mean you’re — ”

“I have many names,” the god interrupts him, “A different name in every society. Good names. Terrible names. Personally, I prefer Logan.”

“Logan,” the word feels odd, on Julian’s tongue, “The god of the Underworld.”

“Go home, Julian. Now.”

Logan claps, and the flame in his hands extinguishes. Julian’s plunged into darkness once more, reaches frantically outward to the walls nearby. He calls out, but Logan doesn’t answer him. It takes him some time, to find his way back out of the cave. He stumbles more than once, catches his toe on a rock and cries out in pain.

But Logan doesn’t come.

He finally finds the sunlight again, climbs back out onto the grass and blinks up at the endless blue sky. He looks back over his shoulder, hesitates at the winding darkness of the cave.

But it’s getting late. Dolce will be waiting.

She doesn’t seem to have noticed how long he’d been absent. He’s clever enough to collect some fresh berries for her, to pick a handful of bright blue flowers to decorate her hair. But when he sleeps, he dreams of Logan. Of sun-kissed hair and glittering eyes, of that wide hand pressed against his cheek. Of that voice, melodic and musical, singing his name.

“Mama,” he asks, not three days later, “You’ve never told me stories of the Underworld.”

Dolce’s hand pauses over her stewpot, “The Underworld? I thought the happy stories were your favorite.”

“But you do have stories?”

“I know of a few,” Dolce says, after a hesitation, “Not happy tales, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me?”

Dolce takes a deep breath, “They call him many things, the god of the Underworld. But the story is always the same. He was his father’s favorite, for many years. His golden son. But then he displeased him.”

“How?”

“It always changes,” Dolce tells him, “Perhaps no one remembers the truth, anymore. But he was banished. The Underworld his punishment.”

“To live among the dead?”

“To rule the dead.”

“Is that truly a punishment?” Julian asks her, “He would still be a king, wouldn’t he?”

“A king of what, though?” Dolce sets a warm bowl of broth before him, “The dead can’t speak. It must be a lonely existence.”

“Can he not have any company?”

Dolce sighs, “We shouldn’t speak of such things. The gods made their decision. It’s not for us to worry about.”

“But I don’t understand,” Julian pushes, “How the gods could be so cruel they’d punish their own children.

“Quiet, my sweet,” Dolce says, “The gods are just. Kind. They gave me you, did they not?”

“But I — ”

“That’s enough, Julian. Eat your supper.”

“But — ”

“I said _enough_.”

Dolce hasn’t raised her voice at him very often. She’s one to scold, not unless he’s done something unforgivable. So the sudden rise in volume startles him, sends him shrinking in on himself. He picks up his spoon, sips slowly as he contemplates.

It seems horribly unfair, that Logan had been sent down to the Underworld as a punishment from his father. He can’t imagine Dolce punishing him so horribly, not for anything in the whole world. She’s yelled at him, even slapped him once, but an eternity of suffering?

It’s unjust.

The thought overtakes his mind. He dreams of Logan again, dreams of the god alone in the Underworld, ferrying the dead across the river day after day after day. He wonders if there had been others before, or if he’d been the first foolish enough to creep through the cave. Wonders if Logan had liked the company, brief as it were, or if Julian had been a rude reminder of the one thing he couldn’t have.

The curiosity is too strong.

He tries to put it out of his mind. The gods are _dangerous_ , he knows. The gods had left his mother alone. They’d punished Logan with an eternity of solitude.

But Logan had been right there. He’d _touched_ him, and he’d let him go.

Perhaps it’s foolish, but Julian doesn’t believe Logan will hurt him.

He’s quiet, this time. Careful to keep his footsteps silent, as he follows the winding tunnel of the cave. He walks through the darkness again, walks until he sees an odd flickering up ahead.

Light.

White and yellow, red and orange, blue and green. It gets brighter, as he moves further down the path. And there’s a sound — something beautiful and frightening, a kind of music he’s never heard before.

He reaches the end, finally. Steps out slowly, turning his head until he finds Logan.

The god is sitting on a low stone bench, his hands flying across the surface of the instrument before him. It looks mildly like the small water-organs Julian’s seen played in the city. But this one is impossibly large, perhaps the largest thing Julian’s ever seen. The pipes are carved from some kind of shining metal, shooting up into the air, winding up the stone walls. The sound that emanates from them echoes, the notes singing in Julian’s veins.

It’s beautiful.

It’s a music like he’s never heard, like no mortal’s ever had, he’s sure of it. It’s haunting, hopeful yearning and solemn all at once, and Julian’s so lost in it he hardly notices when it stops.

When Logan turns, his eyes are wide. Horrified.

“What are you doing here?” He demands, sliding his legs over the bench and rising to his feet, “How did you — you’re not meant to be here, Julian.”

“What was that?” Julian asks, breathless as he moves forward, “That music. That song.”

“It wasn’t meant for you to hear.”

“It was _beautiful_.”

“And not meant for you,” Logan stresses, moving forward, “You need to get out of here, before — ”

There’s a sudden, distant rumbling. The ground shakes beneath their feet, and the flames of the fire around them flicker angrily. Logan murmurs something under his breath, something scared and angry in a tongue too ancient for Julian to understand.

“Go,” he says again, more urgently, “You need to run, Julian. Before it’s too late.”

The fear in Logan’s eyes is real. He pushes Julian back the way he’d come, glances around as the shaking goes more violent.

“ _Run_ ,” he repeats.

Julian runs.

He isn’t sure why. He doesn’t understand. But he knows he has to listen, has to do as Logan orders.

So he runs. He doesn’t stumble in the dark, this time, doesn’t trip over stones and scrape his knees. He reaches the grass, runs over fields and through the valleys, runs past the river until he’s back at home.

But it’s not just his mother waiting for him.

There’s a man with her — a god — and Julian realizes all at once who he is.

“… _father_.”

The god almost resembles him, at least as well as a god can resemble a half-mortal. He’s tall, his skin a glistening gold, near glowing in the dim candlelight. When he turns, his face is twisted in anger. Disappointment.

“Oh, Julian,” Dolce sighs, her cheeks already tear-streaked, “What have you done?”

He doesn’t understand, at first. It hadn’t seemed like anything, hearing Logan’s song. He hadn’t known how the gods would see it.

“They want him in the Underworld,” his father explains, as Dolce clings to Julian desperately, “He’s heard the song. He’s meant to remain there, now.”

“But he didn’t know!” Dolce argues, “The gods can’t punish him when he didn’t _know._ He’s just a foolish child.”

“He isn’t a child,” his father says, patiently, “And the gods can do as they please. A final decision hasn’t been made, quite yet. Logan’s speaking to his father now.”

“But he didn’t — he _can’t_. He’s my son.”

“And no mortal is meant to hear the song, Dolce.”

“But I’m not,” Julian says, raising his head from his mother’s shoulder, “I’m not mortal.”

“Nor are you a god.”

“But I’m not _mortal_ ,” Julian insists, “If you’re my father — well I’m something in between, aren’t I?”

His father appears to consider this, “I suppose you’re right. I’ll speak with the gods. Perhaps they’ll be lenient, this time.”

He looks over at Julian, fixes him with a look so intense it makes Julian sit up straighter in his seat. But he doesn’t say anything, makes no fatherly gestures of love. He vanishes without another word, and Dolce sighs.

“I told you,” she says, her voice laden with sorrow, “I told you to be careful.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Julian tosses and turns that night. He’s incapable of sleep, not when he knows the gods are somewhere discussing his fate, determining his entire future.

He wonders if Logan will be punished, too.

At some point in the night, he must fall asleep. He wakes up with a crick in his neck, the imprint of his own hand across his cheek. Dolce’s sitting beside him, a smile across her face.

“The gods have been generous,” she tells him, softly, “Your father pled your case. But you can never go back there, my darling, do you understand?”

“What about Logan?”

“Don’t you worry about him, Julian.”

“But if he’s to be punished for my actions…”

“I said don’t worry about him,” Dolce leans forward, brushing his hair from his eyes, “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

The words don’t fully satisfy him. He can’t stop thinking about Logan, about his beautiful song and his shimmering eyes. He finds himself wandering back to the cave, again and again, never quite working up the courage to go inside. He hopes, foolishly, that Logan might be waiting for him there, that he’ll have traveled above the Underworld to meet him.

But it’s not at the cave that Julian sees him again.

It’s an unbearably hot day, and Julian’s dragged himself to the river in a desperate attempt to cool off. He strips off his chiton, dives beneath the cool blue water.

When he surfaces, Logan’s waiting for him.

The god is lounging on the riverbed, his legs strewn carelessly in front of him. He looks amused by Julian’s surprise.

“You caused quite a stir among the gods,” he says.

“So I’ve heard.”

Julian rises from the water, climbs back up the stones. His tunic is underneath Logan’s legs, and the god makes no motion to move away.

“Were you punished?” Julian asks, and Logan laughs.

“Nothing I can’t handle, don’t you worry about me.”

“They say I wasn’t meant to hear your song.”

“You weren’t.”

“But it was beautiful.”

Logan pauses, his eyes boring into Julian’s own, “The most beautiful things are always those we can’t have.”

“That doesn’t sound very fair.”

“Perhaps not. But it’s the truth.”

Logan smiles at him, reaches beside him to brush his fingers across the petals of a bright blue flower.

“Were they angry at you?”

“The gods?” Logan asks, “No. In fact, my father congratulated me. Evidently he and yours don’t get along.”

“Is that right?”

“In fact,” Logan continues, “My father asked me to seduce you. To trap you in the Underworld. In return, he promised I’d be allowed to rejoin the rest of the gods.”

Julian’s breath catches, “So that’s why you’re here?”

“No,” Logan plucks one blossom from the ground, reaches over to tuck it behind Julian’s ear, “I’m here to tell you to stay far away from me.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Logan’s fingers feel hot against his skin, “An eternity in the Underworld is a lonely existence.”

“It wouldn’t be if we were both there.”

Logan draws his hand away, “I wouldn’t wish that on you.”

“But if it were my choice?”

“Your mother would be heartbroken.”

“Children grow up. Children leave.”

“They don’t leave this earth.”

“Do you not want me, then?” Julian asks, “Do you not want company down there?”

Logan looks away, raises his eyes to the sky, “There’s nothing I want more.”

“All I have to do is hear your song?”

Logan stands, abruptly, turning away from Julian, “Forget this idea. Forget me. Go home. Find a beautiful girl. Marry, have children. Live a long and happy life.”

“But if — “

Logan’s already gone, in a puff of green-grey smoke.

It’s eating away at him.

He tries. Truly, desperately tries to forget it. But Logan consumes his mind, his body, his soul. He can’t stop thinking of the man, no matter how hard he tries. He dreams of Logan, of his song.

Dolce knows.

She looks at him differently these days, her eyes wide with worry. Hugs him tighter, holds onto his hand too long when he leaves the house.

“You’re my only child,” she says, “My perfect boy. I’ve never loved anything the way I love you.”

“I know, mama.”

“I only want you to be happy.”

“I know, mama.”

“No matter what that means.”

Julian looks up. Dolce’s eyes are wet with unshed tears, her smile shaky. He doesn’t ask for clarification, knows she wouldn’t dare put the thought into words.

But it’s permission.

The next morning, he kisses her goodbye. Lets her hug him until it hurts. Thanks her for everything she’s done for him.

On his way, he picks a single blue flower from beside the river.

The music is playing, as he walks down the path. Beautiful as last time, and Julian would sing along if he weren’t worried about ruining the sound. Logan doesn’t stop, as he nears. He keeps playing, as Julian approaches the organ, his hands growing more and more frantic across the keys.

Julian drops the flower before him.

Logan’s hands stop, but he doesn’t look up. He stares at the bloom, instead, his chest shaking with quick breathes.

“You came,” he says.

“I did.”

“You listened.”

“I did.”

Logan’s fingers drift over the flower, not quite touching the petals, “Are you sure?”

Julian smiles, "I'm sure."

Logan rises, turns to  _finally_  face Julian, his hands ghosting over Julian's face.

"I can talk to my father," he says, "Negotiate. You're only half-mortal, perhaps...perhaps he'll let you walk between the worlds. See your mother again."

"Perhaps," Julian agrees, "But I think I'd like for you to kiss me, first."

Logan lets out a breath, gathers Julian's face in his hands and pulls him close.

His lips feel like coming home.

The gods will argue, he knows. Fight amongst themselves over what to do.

But Julian's finally tasted  _love_ , and he won't sacrifice that for the world.


	68. Ella Enchanted

 

It was meant to be a blessing. A child who never cried, whose tantrums could be put to rest with a single word. His parents had almost enjoyed it, at first, loved how easy it was to make him behave.

The curse had broken Travis, first.

It had gotten a little harder, as Julian grew. As he’d become more and more exposed to the world around him. They’d had to tread carefully around him, be careful about what they said and who they let near him. He’d heard the fight that ended it, the one that stemmed from Travis idly telling him to _‘eat up’_ before living him alone with a table full of food.

Dolce had been furious, when she found her six-year-old son sobbing as he attempted to shove every last morsel of a dinner meant for all three of them into his mouth. She’d screamed at Travis until she was red in the face, and Travis had screamed right back.

Julian had watched from the hallway as Travis packed a suitcase. He’d hesitated, when he passed by, laid a hand on Julian’s head and told him to _‘be good for your mother_.’

They’d both sworn up and down that the divorce wasn’t Julian’s fault, that they’d simply grown apart over the years. But Julian knew better. 

He tries to fight it, after that. He forces himself to ignore orders, sits still with his hands clenched and his eyes shut tight until the urge to obey becomes too much. He never makes it more than a few minutes, but it feels like a win.

He’s fourteen, when his mother decides to send him somewhere safe. The curse had made him a fantastic child actor, for a time. He’d listened to his directors, performed whatever they wanted flawlessly. Acting is the one thing he _doesn’t_ disobey, and he pitches a fit when Dolce pulls it away from him.

But he’s getting older, and Hollywood attracts all manner of seedy individuals. Dolce notices the way the director looks at him, the gleam in his eyes when he compliments Julian for being _‘such a good boy_ ’. She’s quiet on the car ride home, her voice shaky as she explains that ‘ _there’s some people, darling, who might try to take advantage of your…gift.’_

A week later, she hands him a school uniform and a suitcase.

He tries to argue, screams that _anyone_ could give him orders, that sending him away won’t fix any of that. But Dolce’s got her mind made up, and Julian knows his mother is even more stubborn than he is. She’ll change her mind, he hopes.

She has to.

But then he’s walking into freshman orientation, sauntering in ten minutes late in the wrong uniform, up to the first empty chair he sees, asking ‘ _seat taken_?’

He doesn’t know he’s in love, not at first. Those green eyes lock on his, and his stomach flutters a little, but he has a tendency to be easily drawn in by a pretty face.

Except, as it turns out, Logan Wright isn’t _just_ a pretty face. He’s brilliant, and snarky, with the voice of an actual _angel_. He’s got a wit that matches Julian’s, a passion that borders on dangerous…and a rather unfortunate tendencyto give orders.

He doesn’t mean any harm, not really. It’s just the way he _speaks_ , the authority inherent in his personality.

“ _Hand me that.”_

_“Help me with this.”_

_“Practice with me.”_

They’re benign, for the most part. Small, friendly requests that he doesn’t actually _mean_ as an order. He has no idea, that Julian’s physically incapable of refusing. He just thinks Julian’s being a good _friend_ , doing as he asks.

Sometimes, though, the orders hurt.

“ _Get the fuck out of here!”_

_“Don’t talk to me.”_

_“Go fuck yourself._ ”

The last one, of course, had sent Julian into a bit of a panic before he discovered a clever work-around. The others had fixed themselves, when Logan calmed down from his furious anger spirals and begged Julian to _‘open the door, talk to me_ ’.

And then, the realization.

He’d been so excited, to get the role on _Something Damaged_. Dolce knew the director, could vouch that he was safe for Julian to be around. An actor he’d worked with before, Cameron Pike, already had a major role on the show, and Julian’s sure Cameron would look out for him.

He hadn’t expected Logan to talk about _missing him_. About how he hoped Julian would be back, about how he _meant something_.

Julian hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, as he filmed. About how much that _meant_ , about the way his stomach had done a swan dive when Logan touched his shoulder.

He’s in _love_.

With Logan Wright.

He’s not quite sure what to do about it, at first. He’s known for some time now that he swings both ways, but there’d never really been any boy who mattered enough for him to do something about it.

Logan, though, matters. Logan is _everything_ , his best friend ahead of everything else. He feels at _home_ around Logan, feels _comfortable_ around Logan.

But he’s terrified. Terrified of rejection, of failure. More than anything, terrified of Logan finding out the truth about him. He’s sure Logan wouldn’t use it against him. But he remembers Travis walking out, remembers the careful way Dolce speaks to him even now…

He’s not sure he could handle Logan treating him like a freak.

Then, of course, _Logan_ falls in love.

Not with Julian.

(Never with Julian.)

With Blaine. With Kurt. With boys whose faces churn Julian’s stomach just because they’re _not him_.

And along with the boys come more orders.

‘ _Help me, Jules.’_

_‘I want to sing this with him, practice with me.’_

_‘I have to go to Lima, take care of the dorms for me_.’

And Julian obeys, every time. No matter how much it hurts, he obeys. He tries, once or twice, to ignore it. To squeeze his eyes shut and pretend Logan hadn’t said those words. But then Logan’s looking up at him, expectantly, and Julian can’t say no.

He’s not sure if it’s the curse or his heart, anymore.

It’s getting too hard.

Everything is getting to be too _much_ , and Julian’s barely holding himself together. He’s going to leave, he decides, to withdraw from school once and for all and take his chances back in Hollywood.

But then Adam’s grabbing him outside Logan’s room, dragging him halfway across campus and into a room strewn with candles and rose petals.

He’s giving so many _orders_ , telling Julian to shut up and listen and ‘ _come with me_ ’, and Julian can’t even figure out which ones he’s meant to follow. He’s hyperventilating by the time Logan and Blaine burst in, sweating and convulsing with the effort of ignoring a chain of demands.

He doesn’t have enough energy to fight, when the knife presses against his throat.

‘ _Tell him!’_ , Adam’s demanding.

‘ _Tell him!’_ , an order.

‘ _Tell him!’_ , Julian’s doom.

He chokes out the words, watches the way Logan’s face falls in devastation, the _horror_ in his eyes when Julian finally confesses everything he’s held back all these years. 

There’s a scuffle after that he doesn’t entirely understand. He knows Logan’s surging forward, sees Blaine moving and Adam falling to the ground, and then _he’s_ falling too, his body limp and weak and sprawled in a heap beside Logan.

There are more orders, after that, from Logan and Blaine and Kurt and a dozen boys screaming from below.

‘ _Come with me!’_

_‘Follow him, Julian!’_

_‘Hurry up!’_

He watches Logan hurry to the exit, feels a flood of relief at how _close_ they are, how they’re going to get out _safe_ …

Until they can’t.

Not all of them.

He sees the way Logan hesitates. _Hurts_ at how Logan hesitates.

He doesn’t want Logan to hurt anymore.

It’s why he shoves _Kurt_ forward, why he throws the smaller boy into Logan’s arms with all the strength he can muster. He hears Logan scream his name, but he can’t listen.

Logan’s telling him to _get out_ , he knows, and he knows he won’t be able to. So he drowns out the words, ignores the screaming from the other boys and runs back the way they’d come.

His decision to jump through the window with Adam was, in hindsight, a little reckless.

But he hadn’t seen another way.

He’s still half-conscious, when he hits the ground. Feels someone lift him up, the two arms winding around him and clinging with a strength that almost hurts. Hears Logan’s voice begging. Ordering.

_‘Wake up, Jules.’_

_‘Open your eyes.’_

_‘Look at me, goddamnit!’_

But he can’t. His eyelids feel so heavy. He can’t obey.

Not this time.

The last thing he hears, before the blackness overtakes him, is the sound of an awful, pained scream.

When he wakes up, his life is a flurry of orders.

_‘Sit up for me.’_

_‘Take this.’_

_‘Try to stand.’_

He obeys, mindlessly, too tired to think about it too hard. They’re easy orders, for the most part, ones meant to help him heal and work him back up to full mobility.

Dolce’s a little more careful around him, chooses her words before she asks him to do anything. She never pushes, even when he refuses to talk or chooses to stay in bed all day.

Logan texts.

A _lot_.

Julian can’t open them. He knows they’re all orders.

‘ _Talk to me.’_

_‘Call me back.’_

_‘Tell me what’s going on_.’

He can’t deal with them. Not right now.

But then, of course, Logan’s _there_ , sitting at Julian’s bedside when he wakes from a nap, and Julian can’t exactly ignore that. He’s upset, frustrated, angry. Asks Julian if he was ‘ _just going to ignore me forever_?’ and stresses how worried everyone’s been, with no word from him.

He looks at Julian with something akin to _pity_ , and Julian can’t handle that.

But being dismissed so easily upsets Logan, and he’s reaching for Julian’s hands, demanding that he _‘look at me’_ , and Julian shuts his eyes.

He can fight this.

He _can_.

But the symptoms don’t come.

He doesn’t feel the shortness of breath, the dizzying headache, the churning stomach. Everything he’d ever felt when he hadn’t obeyed an order. He feels _nothing_.

His eyes snap open, but he doesn’t turn towards Logan. Not yet.

Logan says it again, more demanding, urging Julian to _‘look at me, goddamnit’._

Nothing.

Julian remembers then, quite vividly, the orders Logan had given him as he cradled Julian’s broken body in his arms. The orders he’d ignored, the orders he _couldn’t_ follow.

He’d broken it.

Finally.

For a third time, Logan repeats his order.

And Julian?

Julian _laughs_.

Logan doesn’t understand, not at first. It’s some time before Julian explains. At first, it’s because he wants to be sure — wants to know indisputably that the curse is _gone_ , that this all hadn’t just been some strange side effect from his coma. Afterwards, it’s to save Logan from the guilt. He’s still agonizing over not noticing Julian’s feelings for so long, still beating himself up day after day, and Julian doesn’t want to give him _more_ to feel guilty over.

It’s not until their first anniversary that Julian fesses up.

Logan’s confused at first, struggles with accepting something that sounds so absurd. It’s not until Dolce confirms it that he really _believes_ , and even then he has a million questions. Julian answers them as best he can, assures Logan that if he’d ever been given an order he _really_ didn’t want to follow, he would have confessed.

Even after Julian’s promises that the curse is _over_ , Logan still tries to phrase things as suggestions more than commands. They wonder sometimes, what it might have been like if they’d gotten together before, if Julian had been Logan’s _boyfriend_ and still unable to say no.

But it’s _over_.

And life moves on.

And years after Hell Night, years after Julian had finally broken the curse that plagued him all those years, Logan’s dropping to one knee and giving an order Julian wants to obey more than anything.

‘ _Marry me.’_

 


	69. and there was only one bed

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman at the counter says, as if her sixth apology might finally be the one to send Logan away, “But there’s really nothing I can do. All flights have been canceled due to weather, and I’m not sure when they’ll be allowed to take off again.”

“So you’re telling me I’m _stuck_ here,” Logan says, leaning across the counter. The woman flinches, her eyes nervously drifting to Logan’s clenched fists, “In the middle of fucking _nowhere_.”

“…this is Chicago, sir.”

“Which that’s not fucking New York, is it?”

A security guard steps forward, and the woman at the desk looks visibly relieved.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man says, a firm hand pressed against Logan’s shoulder, “But I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Hotel line starts over there.”

“I don’t want a fucking _hotel_ ,” Logan spits, “I want a _flight_.”

“I can give you a night in jail, if you’d prefer that option.”

He looks like he means it, and Logan takes a step back. There’s a crowd of people watching him warily now, and the _last_ thing he wants right now is a viral video on Twitter — _entitled twenty-something screams at JetBlue employees!_

“Fine,” he growls, “Thanks for all the fucking help.”

He grabs his carry-on and storms off, joins the line of people looking just as irritated with this whole situation as he is. There’s perhaps a dozen people frantically working their way through the crowd, each wearing a name tag for a different hotel.

If he gets the representative from Motel 6, he might wind up settling for that whole jail option.

There’s a woman standing not too far away with a name tag from Loews, and Logan does his best to edge his way closer to her. It takes a goddamn _century_ for him to get to the front of the line, and the Loews employee is just finishing up with another disgruntled traveler when Logan’s phone buzzes.

He looks down for a _second_. A fraction of a breath, just to glance at the message from Michelle, and some asshole with a too-large duffel bag sidesteps him.

“Hey!” Logan exclaims, shoving his phone back in his pocket, “I was next!”

“And you weren’t moving,” the man says, already handing his ID to the employee, “I’m sure Best Western can fit you in.”

“But I was _next_ ,” Logan argues, pushing his way towards the man and the startled-looking hotel representative, “This is my room.”

“You can have the next one, then,” the man turns back to the employee, gives her a charming smile, “King, please. With a view.”

“ _I’ll_ be taking that,” Logan says firmly, and the woman grimaces.

“Um, sirs…this is my last room,” she says nervously, “If the two of you can’t work out which one of you gets it, I’m going to need you to get back in line and wait for someone else.”

“Absolutely not,” Logan says, “I’ve been waiting _hours_. I’m fucking exhausted. I’m taking this room.”

“No, you’re not,” the other man says, “I’m not staying in some fucking motel. I’m staying here.”

“So go find the Hilton, or the Hyatt, or _something_. But this is _my room_.”

“Like fuck it is, the only hotels left are all disgusting.”

Logan glances over. The man isn’t wrong — in Logan’s single-minded focus on this hotel, he’d missed the representatives from any other decent place filter out. Everything left sounds seedy, cheap, and not at all to his tastes.

“Look,” he says, straightening up to his full height, “I don’t know who you think you are…”

“Who I think _I_ am? You’re the one pitching a fit because you were too busy texting to find your own room.”

“ _Sirs_ ,” the woman says, a little more firmly this time, “You’re holding up the line.”

“I’m not leaving without this room,” Logan says, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh yeah, well neither am I.”

“So you’re sharing, then?”

Logan blinks, “Excuse me?”

“Look,” the woman says slowly, as if she’s speaking to children, “I don’t get paid enough for shit like this. So either one of you wins this argument, you split the room, or you both lose and walk away right now. Either way, I’d _really_ like to get home to my kids. So?”

“I’m fine with it,” the stranger says, and Logan scowls.

“I don’t even _know_ you.”

The man shrugs, “So either we split it or I get it. Your choice.”

“This is absurd.”

“Probably. But I’d much rather be in a warm bed with the heater blasting and room service than standing in an airport arguing with you. So?”

Logan grits his teeth.

He won’t fucking _lose_.

“Fine,” he says, “We’ll split it.”

There’s _applause_ from behind them. The man beside him smirks, blows a kiss at the crowd and makes some kind of exaggerated bow before grabbing they key-card from the employee. He saunters off to the line of taxis, and Logan scrambles to keep up. 

The ride to the hotel is silent. Logan side-eyes the man in the taxi beside him, frowns as he watches him scroll through Instagram and watch videos with full volume.

He can’t _wait_ to get to the hotel. To curl up in a bed, to put in his headphones and pretend he’s got the whole room to himself.

He manages to wrangle the key-card from his companion’s hand in the elevator, marches down the hall and swipes it.

They both stare.

“…is this the right room?” The man asks, and Logan rolls his eyes.

“Of course it is,” he says, “The card worked, didn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” the man shifts, peeks into the room, “It’s just…there’s only one bed.”

“Yeah,” Logan says, with a heavy sigh, “There’s only one bed.”

He tries to fight it. The other man — Julian, he finds out in the ensuing argument — throws his bag onto a nearby chair, flings himself onto the bed and fixes Logan with a stare so stern he’s pretty sure his blood freezes. The manager he gets a hold of downstairs is no help, apologizing to Logan as he explains that the hotel is fully booked, that there’s not a _single_ spare bed anywhere in the building.

“A cot, then,” Logan asks, feeling a little desperate, “A…pull out couch? _Something_?”

“I can give you a few extra pillows,” the manager says, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wright, but unfortunately that’s all I’m able to do for you at the moment.”

Logan wants to _scream_. But he’s so, _so_ tired.

“Fine,” he says, grabbing the three extra pillow the man slides across the counter, “Could we get some room service, at least?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We weren’t expecting such a sudden influx of people here. We actually ran out of food an hour ago.”

“Of course you did,” Logan sighs, “Of fucking _course_.”

Julian raises an eyebrow when Logan returns to the room, his arms full of pillows and three miniature bags of pretzels.

“That doesn’t look like filet mignon,” he says, and Logan rolls his eyes.

“They’re out of food,” he says shortly, “And rooms. And beds.”

“So we’re stuck here, then? One bed. No food.”

“Just the slim hope of catching a flight out in the morning.”

Julian hums, “Well. I think I have a crushed granola bar in my bag.”

“Fantastic. So we’ll starve a little slower.”

“At least we won’t freeze.”

“Right. I got you some pillows, by the way. Figure you could make like…I don’t know, a nest on the floor, or something?”

“ _Me_?” Julian props himself up on his elbows, “ _I’m_ the one who sleeps on the floor? I’m already here.”

“I have a bad back,” Logan says, “Which overrides whatever dibs you called by throwing your crap all over the bed first.”

“Well _I_ have insomnia,” Julian argues, “It’s worse if I’m uncomfortable, which it will be if I’m on the floor.”

“If you’re not sleeping anyway, who cares where you’re not sleeping?”

“I’m not moving,” Julian says, shimmying under the blankets, “I’m comfortable. It’s a big fucking bed, feel free to take one side.”

The problem, of course, is that _Julian_ doesn’t just take one side. His ice-cold toes brush against Logan’s calves not twenty minutes after they shut off the light, and Logan hisses.

“Stay on your _side_. Oh my god, you put the heat at _eighty_.”

“It’s _dark_ ,” Julian retorts, “I didn’t know you were that close.”

“Just stop fucking moving.”

Julian makes a sound of annoyance, and Logan tries to block out the sound of rustling blankets as the other man re-arranges himself. The bed shakes with his movement, and Logan grits his teeth.

It’s just one night.

He can handle _one_ night.

He manages to nod off before too long, despite Julian’s presence beside him. It’s a testament to how goddamn _exhausted_ he is, how desperately he needs the sleep.

Sometime during the night, one of them must shift. Logan blinks awake at the sound of a soft whimper.

Julian is absolutely _plastered_ to his side, all four limbs wound around him. Logan’s somehow rolled to face him, one leg shoved between Julian’s thighs, one arm thrown around his shoulders.

And despite the close quarters, Logan is still absolutely freezing.

“Cold,” Julian murmurs, pressing even closer, “Fix it.”

“Fucking heat must’ve gone out,” Logan says, “Can’t fix it.”

“Go _ask_ then.”

“If I’m this cold under _blankets_ there’s no chance in hell I’m getting out from under them.”

“But I’m _cold_.”

“So am I.”

Julian whines, “But it’s _cold_.”

“So figure out a way to warm up then, princess.”

Julian’s quiet, for a moment, and Logan _tries_ to go back to sleep.

Until a pair of surprisingly warm lips press against his neck.

“What the _fuck_?”

“You told me to warm up,” Julian says, one hand sliding beneath Logan’s shirt, “This is me warming up.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Technically you are.”

“I don’t _know_ you.”

“What, never fucked a stranger before?”

Julian throws one leg over Logan’s waist, presses his mouth against Logan’s throat. Logan doesn’t _want_ to be turned on by this, really. He’s not exactly interested in one-night-stands, and Julian’s done so goddamn much to piss him off over the course of the last six hours.

But Julian’s attractive, and here, and _warm_ , and Logan can’t help the whimper he lets out.

“I don’t have condoms,” he breathes, even as he reaches for Julian’s hips, “I don’t — we can’t.”

“That’s okay,” Julian says, rolling his hips, “Too cold, can’t take off clothes. Just like this.”

It’s been _ages_ since Logan’s done this. Years since he’s rutted against someone fully clothed, exchanged sloppy kisses without even getting his dick touched. But it feels so _good_ , and it’s remarkably effective in warming up, and he can’t stop.

Julian laughs against Logan’s mouth, when he finally kisses back. The laugh quickly dissipates, though, as Logan flips him over, as he hovers over Julian and grinds into him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, “God, Logan.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Wish we had stuff,” Julian continues, gasping against Logan’s mouth, “God, I bet you’d feel good inside me.”

Logan _whines_.

“I can feel it,” Julian says, “How big you are. It’d feel so _good_ …”

Logan’s not going to last. Not with Julian talking with this, with Julian’s hand pressed over the soft cloth of Logan’s sweatpants, Julian’s mouth on his.

He’s fucking _weak_. 

When he comes, it’s with a rather embarrassing sound, a violent shudder. He all but collapses on top of Julian after, loose and boneless. They stay like that for some time, panting together.

“You _bit_ me,” Julian says accusatorially.

“Sorry,” Logan says, not really feeling sorry at all.

“I _came_ ,” Julian’s voice is almost full of awe, “You bit my neck and I _came_.”

“Kind of weird.”

“ _You_ came, too.”

“Also a little weird.”

Julian wiggles a little, beneath him, and Logan makes a move to roll off.

“No,” Julian’s hands shoot up, gripping Logan’s arms, “I’m actually _warm_ like this.”

“I’m gonna crush you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not _that_ big.”

“This can’t be comfortable.”

“Who cares about comfort?” Julian asks, “I’m _warm_.”

He slips his arms around Logan’s waist, nuzzles just a little closer. His hair brushes against Logan’s face, the soft scent of his shampoo tickling Logan’s nose.

“You know,” Logan says, after a few moments, “We’re only gonna be warm for a few minutes. It’ll start getting cold again soon.”

“Don’t say that. Let me _pretend_ , at least.”

“I’m just saying. There’s a very real possibility we might have to try again pretty soon.”

"Oh, is that right?"

Logan hums, "If you want to stay warm, at least."

"Well, I  _do_ like being warm."

Julian tilts his head up, grinning a little.

"In fact," Logan continues, "We don't even know when we'll get a flight out of here."

"That's true," Julian agrees, "I mean, we could be stuck here for  _days_."

"We could."

"Weeks, even."

"It's possible."

"We might want to think about finding condoms."

Logan laughs, "I'll see what I can do."


	70. Valentine's Day Special

Logan’s not exactly happy about spending Valentine’s Day alone. 

He understands what Derek’s always telling him, that he should be happy with _himself_ before diving into any relationships. That it’s _healthy_ to spend some time alone, to experience life without a significant other for just a little while.

But Logan’s fairly certain he hadn’t been built to be single. 

He _needs_ someone else, craves human affection. And spending the day alone on the most romantic day of the year isn’t exactly something he looks forward to.

Still, he tries to make the best of it.

He has a few movies queued up on Netflix, has a nice bottle of merlot he plans on getting into. The only thing left is dinner, and his online food order should be here any second. 

There’s a knock on his door, and Logan can smell the food before he’s even taken it. He grabs the bag from the delivery boy, pointedly avoids making eye contact — he doesn’t want to see the look of pity the teenager is no doubt giving him — and closes the door without a word.

He’s not going to mope tonight. He’s going to enjoy his movies, eat his food, and drink his wine.

But eating alone on his couch out of a _box_ seems a little too depressing. He carries the food to the kitchen, pulls out one of the plates Michelle had bought for him when he first moved out on his own, and dumps the contents of one box onto the dish.

_Peanuts_.

Logan stares down at the mountain of noodles in horror. The nuts are _everywhere_ , chopped into tiny pieces and mixed in amongst the noodles and vegetables. He _knows_ he’d put a very explicit note in the delivery instructions about his peanut allergy. He’s ordered from this place dozens of times before, has talked to the chef more than once to make sure his order is safe.

Of course it’d be _today_ they fuck it up. 

He sighs, pushes the plate aside and opens the next box. It’s meant to contain his favorite rice dish.

Instead, he finds spring rolls. With _shrimp_.

He tries calling, but the woman who answers the phone seems absolutely frazzled. Logan can hear the loud noise on her end, no doubt the Valentine’s date crowd gathered for romantic dinners. 

“Looks like we had two orders to your building, Mr. Wright,” she says, “The driver must have mixed them up. I can put in a replacement order, but we’re pretty backed up over here. Obviously we’ll process a refund, but our current wait time for delivery is nearly two hours…”

Logan sighs, “Could you tell me what apartment the other order went to, then? Maybe they haven’t eaten it yet.”

“I’m not sure — privacy concerns, you know,” there’s a bit of a commotion on her end, and Logan hears her noise of irritation, “Screw it, I don’t care — the other order went to apartment three twenty-four.”

She hangs up in a bit of a hurry, and Logan stares down at the food in front of him. The spring rolls are easily re-packaged, but he’d absently thrown the noodle carton in the trash. He grabs the box and the full plate, balances them both on one arm and strides out into the hall, down a floor to the unit the woman had given him.

The door swings open immediately.

“Oh, hey,” the man says, startling a little bit at the sight of the food, “That’s my dinner.”

“…yeah,” Logan says, a little weakly. He hadn’t exactly been expecting to run into anyone _this_ beautiful — the man is tall, slim but still muscular, with gently curling chestnut hair and bright eyes. Logan’s suddenly forgotten what he came here to say, his eyes fixed on the man before him.

“…I’m assuming what I have is yours, then?” The man continues, “Because I definitely didn’t order this beef and broccoli thing.”

“That would be mine, yeah,” Logan says, “Should be fried rice, too?”  
  
“Probably,” the man says brightly, “Haven’t checked. Was a little upset about not having my noodles.”

“Well, I’d really like _my_ food,” Logan says, “So do you mind trading?”

“Sure,” the man takes the food from Logan, tilts his head in a _follow me_ gesture and steps into the kitchen. Logan can smell his food — the right food, this time — as he steps up to the counter. The container of beef and broccoli is open, his rice missing a rather large forkful.

“You tried my food.”

“You dumped _mine_ on a plate.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“And _I_ didn’t think my actual food would magically appear at my door.”

“Touché,” Logan admits, “Um…you can keep that plate, I guess? My stepmom bought it. I’m not really super attached, or anything.”

The man laughs, “How about I bring it back after I run it through the dishwasher?”

“Yeah, I guess that works. I’m in four-seventeen. Logan, by the way.”

“Julian,” the man says, “Thanks for bringing me the right food.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Julian.”

Julian smiles at him, and Logan scoops up his food, moves toward the door.

“Um…I couldn’t help but notice, but it looks like you only ordered enough food for once person. Unless your girlfriend eats _very_ small portions.”

Logan makes a face, “No it’s…it’s just for me. No girlfriend. Wouldn’t be a _girl_ friend, anyway.”

“Oh,” Julian bites at his lower lip, looks down at his food, “I only ordered enough for one, too.”

“You really want to commiserate over how we’re both losers spending Valentine’s Day alone?”

“…I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out for a little bit, actually. Eat. Watch a movie. But if you’re just going to call me a loser…”

“What movie?”

“Doesn’t matter. I was thinking _Notting Hill_ , but it doesn’t have to be a rom-com. I just figured…you know. Valentine’s Day. Kind of a good excuse to watch some cheesy meet-cute movie.”

“You were going to watch a romantic comedy _alone_?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow, “Last time I did that I got vodka drunk and cried.”

“Well I don’t have vodka,” Julian says, glancing behind him, “But I have three bottles of wine. It’s probably healthier I share them with someone else.”

“You really want to get wine drunk with a stranger?”

“You don’t seem creepy. You’re _not_ creepy, right?”

Logan frowns, “Of course not. I’m perfectly normal.”

“So, what do you say? I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being alone.”

Logan only hesitates for a moment. It’s not like he’d been crazy about the idea of spending Valentine’s alone. Julian might be a little odd, but he doesn’t seem like a terribly unpleasant person to spend the evening with. 

At least it’s a good view.

“Sure,” he says, “I was leaning towards an action movie, but that’s mostly because I didn’t think I could handle watching something sappy alone.”

“Well then,” Julian smiles, gathers up his own food and leads Logan over to the sofa. The movie is already queued up, and Logan settles onto Julian’s couch, carefully balancing his food carton on his lap.

The movie’s just as cheesy as he anticipated, but Julian pipes up every so often with snappy commentary that makes Logan snicker.

“Oh my god,” Logan finally says, after a particularly snarky critique, “ _You_ picked this movie.”

“Oh, I like it,” Julian says, “But sometimes the characters are dumb and they need to know.”

He tosses a shred of carrot Logan’s way, laughs like a child when it sticks to Logan’s cheek. Logan can’t quite find it in himself to be annoyed — he wipes it off, leans over and steals Julian’s wine glass.

“Hey,” Julian whines, making no attempt to snatch it back, “I wasn’t finished with that.”

“I’m your guest,” Logan says matter-of-factly, “You didn’t offer to refill my wine glass. That’s rude.”

“Of course, how _dare_ I be rude to the guest I so graciously invited to my home so he wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s Day crying alone to rom-coms.”

“So _you_ wouldn’t spend it crying alone to rom-coms.”

Julian mutters something under his breath — Logan manages to make out the word _ungrateful_ — and uncurls his legs, pushing himself up and going to fetch the wine bottle from the kitchen. Logan’s eyes slip away from the screen, follow instead the subtle swing of Julian’s hips. 

It’s the wine, he thinks. Muddling his brain just enough that he can’t entirely control himself, that he finds himself entertaining ideas he should maybe be avoiding.

“Can I ask you something?”

Julian raises one eyebrow as he sits, his lips pursed around the mouth of the bottle.

“How is someone like you alone on Valentine’s Day? I mean, you’re — you’re gorgeous.”

“Aw,” Julian draws out the word, and a small dimple appears in one cheek, “How sweet.”

“I just…it’s probably rude. You just don’t seem like the type of person who’d have a hard time getting a date on Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t,” Julian says, stretching out his legs. His toes, ice-cold, press against Logan’s ankle, “Usually. But I had a pretty shit break-up just after New Year’s. Been kinda slow getting back in the dating game, I guess.”

“That brutal?”

Julian shrugs, “It’s just…I don’t know. Kinda scary. Setting yourself up to get hurt.”

“Until you find the person who doesn’t hurt you.”

“You sound pretty sure of yourself. For someone spending tonight alone.”

“Call me a hopeless romantic,” Logan says, “But there’s gotta be someone out there who makes it all worth it, right?”

“I mean, I’d like to think so. Just wish it wasn’t so exhausting looking for them.”

“Tell me about it,” Logan sighs, swirling the last dregs of wine around the bottom of his glass, “Sometimes I just wish it could be _easy_ , you know? Like someone could just find me in my apartment.”

He lifts the glass to his lips, swallows the last of the wine. He’s feeling pleasantly tipsy, just teetering on the edge of drunk. He wonders if Julian’s got another bottle somewhere, if he should venture to his own apartment for his own bottle. 

When he lifts his eyes to ask, Julian’s staring.

Not a normal stare. He’s _staring_ , his eyes dark, his tongue slipping across his lower lip. Logan’s frozen, under Julian’s stare, even as the brunet slides across the sofa, his thigh pressed against Logan’s.

“So, this hypothetical partner of yours,” he says, slowly, “What type of person are we talking, exactly?”

Logan swallows, “I’m not — I don’t really think I have a type, really. My friends — friend, really — says I do, but I don’t know.”

“Hair color? Height? Nothing you can tell me about them?”

“I don’t — care, really.”

“Gender?”

His fingers are ghosting against Logan’s knee, now, making it impossible to concentrate.

“Gay,” Logan blurts out, in a rather undignified manner, “I’m gay.”

Julian’s lips curl into a smirk, “Well, then. I know it doesn’t quite fit your fantasy. It’s _my_ apartment, not yours. But what do you say?”

“What do I say?”

Julian makes a noise of frustration, “I’m asking you to fuck me, Logan.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice comes out a little breathy, “Okay. Yes, please.”

Julian leans in, and Logan only  _just_  has enough mental capacity to thrust a hand in between them before their lips can touch.

"I might ruin this moment," he says, his voice thick, "But I am  _deathly_ allergic to peanuts. And shrimp. Which you just ate."

"Oh," Julian blinks, frowning, "Should I...we could do this without kissing?"

"Would it kill the mood if you just...brushed your teeth?" Logan offers, "That should be enough. It usually is."

"Right," Julian shakes his head a little, rising to his feet, "I'll be back. Just — stay horny, alright?"

It'd be impossible  _not_ to, Logan thinks, as he stares at Julian's ass, barely contained in those skin-tight jeans he's wearing. He's half-worried Julian's going to change his mind, that he'll return from the bathroom and say it was just a passing fancy, that he'd really like it if Logan left his apartment.

But that's not what happens.

Before too long, Julian's back, sliding into his lap and sticking his tongue down Logan’s mouth. He tastes like mint, like toothpaste and the distinct alcohol-tinged flavor of mouthwash. Logan's not sure why that affects him, why the thought that Julian had been so careful about his oral hygiene _turns him on_. But it does. He slides his hands around Julian’s waist, past his hips to his ass and squeezes.

Sure, he’s moving a little faster than he usually prefers. But he’s fucking a _stranger_. On _Valentine’s Day_. 

He figures the normal rules don’t exactly apply, here.

“I’ve seen you, you know,” Julian sounds remarkably composed, for someone writhing in Logan’s lap, “Around the building. Always thought you were so _hot_ , figured you must have someone.”

“Should’ve said hi,” Logan pants, tugging at the hem of Julian’s shirt, “Could’ve done this _ages_ ago.”

“But this is _romantic_ ,” Julian says, his fingers fumbling with Logan’s zipper, “Valentine’s Day, and shit.”

Logan’s not sure this night is something he’d call romantic.

Fun, naturally, when Julian deep-throats him on the couch.

Filthy, when he lets Logan hold him against the wall as he fucks into him.

Vulgar, when Logan’s face is damn near buried in Julian’s ass, as he’s tasting _himself_ inside.

Downright obscene, when he manages to push one of Julian’s legs _over his head_ , manages to hit an angle deeper than he ever has.

But not _romantic_. 

That would be absurd.

Sure, Julian looks like an angel afterward — a positively _depraved_ angel, with the mouth of a sailor — when he falls limp against the sheets, his curls a soft halo around his face.His mouth curves into a dazed, happy smile, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he murmurs, “That was… _wow_.”

“Tell me about it,” Logan says, stuck in a tangle of satin sheets, “This was considerably better than the Valentine’s Day I had planned.”

He wants to suggest that it doesn’t have to be a one-time thing, that maybe this could just be night one. But he’s not sure where they stand, here. Not sure if Julian only intended this to be a one-off, if he’s even ready for another relationship so soon after a break-up.

“You know,” Julian says, his fingers twitching against Logan’s wrist, “There’s a lot of holidays in the year. Lots of days you really don’t want to spend alone. If you’re ever…alone for them.”

Logan can’t help but grin, “Yeah. Like…Christmas.”

“Halloween.”

“Fourth of July.”

“Easter.”

“President’s Day.”

Julian frowns, “When’s that one?”

“Next Monday.”

Julian stares at him a moment, before bursting into laughter. It’s a contagious sound, and Logan chuckles as Julian curls towards him.

“Well, then,” Julian says, smiling, “I think I can clear my schedule for President’s Day.”

“We could watch _White House Down_ and make out.”

“It’s a date.”


	71. Art Class

Logan doesn’t quite understand why he’s required to take an art course. He’s a _music_ major, he doesn’t need pottery or sketching or art history. But his counselor reminds him, just before his last semester, and Logan reluctantly enrolls in the first open class that fills his schedule. 

 

For the majority of the semester, Figure Drawing for Beginners is easy enough. They’re not graded on their actual artistic abilities, thank god, and Logan’s taking the class pass/fail anyway. Still, though, he doesn’t entirely mind spending fifty minutes twice a week going over the basic concepts of the art and examining works.

 

He’s not great at the practical application, when they move to _actual_ drawing. His first sketch, a self-portrait, looks more like some kind of goblin than an actual human being. He improves just slightly, manages to create humanoid figures at some point that have his professor grimacing a little less. 

 

Their final project, though, is to spend two weeks sketching a _live model_. 

 

Logan’s seen this on television, knows they’re going to spend the next four classes staring at some poor naked student just trying to earn some extra cash. 

 

Then said _poor naked student_ walks in, and Logan nearly drops his ridiculously expensive pencils.

 

“Class,” the professor says, clapping her hands together, “This is Julian. He’s agreed to model for us for the next two weeks. Let me remind you of the class rules, and please help our lovely model feel welcome here.”

 

The class rules. Of course. Professionalism first. Figure drawing isn’t meant to be _sexual —_ she’d stressed that one multiple times.

 

But then Julian steps up to the podium, lets his dark blue robe slip to the floor, and _god_.

 

How is Logan _not_ supposed to think about sex?

 

All around him, the other students are getting to work. He sees a few of them examine Julian critically, holding up their pencils to take stock of his proportions before beginning their sketch. There’s a freshman art major beside him, who mutters to himself as he begins drawing.

 

None of them seem as affected by Julian’s naked form as Logan is.

 

It’s an absolute goddamn shame, really. The man is _stunning_. In every way. He’s by far the most attractive human being Logan’s ever seen, from the dark curls on top of his head to the firm line of his abs to the curve of his feet.

 

How the hell is Logan supposed to sketch _perfection_?

 

The professor suddenly clears her throat beside him, and Logan jumps a bit in his seat.

 

“That paper won’t fill itself, Mr. Wright.”

 

Logan flushes a soft pink, picks up his pencil and presses it against the paper. He glances up, only to find that Julian’s looking his way, a soft smile across his lips when he catches Logan’s eyes.

 

He’s not sure where to start.

 

He draws a small curve, something he means to use as the base of Julian’s skull. But it doesn’t quite look right — a shoulder, perhaps? He looks back up at Julian, squinting a little as he tries to look at him as a prop rather than a person. It could work, he thinks, and so he extends the line, follows the curve of Julian’s elbow. It rests along his hip, his fingers trailing along his upper thigh.

 

Which is connected to the most perfect ass Logan’s ever seen.

 

It’s honestly unfair, for a real human to have an ass like _that_.

 

Logan attempts to sketch _those_ curves, but it looks more like two oversized baseballs jutting out of a straight line.

 

His professor reappears, makes a soft noise behind him and takes his pencil from his hand.

 

“Look at the shadows, Mr. Wright,” she blurs the lines he’s drawn, gestures at the man standing before them, “Look _past_ him, you see? _Through_ him. He’s not just a thigh connected to a hip connected to a back. He’s _more_ , you see?”

 

God, does he see.

 

They’ve put Julian in the perfect position. The windows — on the fourth floor, there’s no concern that anybody will peek through — are wide open, the sun streaming through and lighting over his body. His face is turned upwards, illuminating the lines of his face. It casts parts of him in shadow, and Logan is _fascinated_.

 

He does his best. But they have less than an hour, and Julian’s impossible to capture on paper. Logan tries, of course. He sketches the fall of Julian’s eyelashes across his skin. Attempts to capture the single curl that drops between his eyebrows. He tries the sharp cheekbones, the elegant lines of his neck, the dark hairs circling his belly button that lead down to…

 

Oh god.

 

It’s _hard_.

 

It’s part of the rules, part of the _professionalism_ they’re meant to exhibit. He can’t point out something like that, can’t snicker behind his hand or smirk just because their figure model popped a boner.

 

“Alright class, five more minutes. You should be wrapping up your sketches by now.”

 

Logan’s nowhere near finished. He has a rough shape of Julian’s head, his neck, his shoulders, but somewhere around the waist, it fades away. He knows he won’t be able to finish it, but he hopes it will be good enough for a passing grade. He can do better on Thursday, he thinks, with whatever model they’re assigned next.

 

Hopefully they won’t be as distracting as Julian.

 

A timer goes off, and Julian falls from his pose. One of his arms, which he’d had raised at a slight angle, drops to his side. He rolls out his shoulders, bends at the waist and scoops up the silk robe he’d discarded at the beginning of class.

 

“Mr. Wright,” his professor says, hovering behind him as the other students pack their things and filter out,“You’re too in your head again. You need to relax. Don’t overthink it too much.”

 

“I’m not an artist,” Logan says, for the hundredth time this semester, but she just scoffs at him.

 

“This may not be your preferred medium, Mr. Wright, but you’re still an artist. I’m sure you don’t overthink this much when you’re playing the piano. You just need to _relax_.”

 

“Did he not do me justice?”

 

Julian’s slinking their way, the robe tied loosely at his waist. He leans over before Logan can hide his canvas, hums as he takes in the lines of charcoal across the paper. One shoulder of the fabric slips down, and Logan’s eyes fixate on the hollow of his throat.

 

“Is that really what my nose looks like?” He asks, and Logan nearly rips the drawing from his stand.

 

“It’s a little wide, yes, but he did get your mouth right,” the professor says, “I believe he’s the only one who added that little freckle you have beneath your lip, too.”

 

Logan feels his face heat up. He’d hoped she wouldn’t point that out — it had only been after ten minutes of intent staring that he’d even _seen_ it, the faint spot only momentarily illuminated by a single sunbeam. It’s barely perceptible even now, with Julian leaning so far over his shoulder.

 

He smells like coffee.

 

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time, Mr. Wright. Mr. Larson will be changing up his pose each class, so I want you to forget about this one entirely, alright? Take a few breaths before you start and try again on Thursday.”

 

Logan avoids eye contact as he gathers up his supplies, “Right, of course. Thank you.”

 

He hurries from the room, completely oblivious to the way Julian’s eyes linger on him.

 

He doesn’t fare much better on Thursday.

 

Julian’s standing again, this time angled slightly differently. One leg is bent slightly underneath him, the toes of his foot pushing against the smooth floor as he lifts his heel. His arms are stretched upwards, forearms resting on his head. His face is angled to the side, nose and chin pointed almost directly at Logan.

 

The head-on angle is even more difficult. Logan struggles with the symmetry of Julian’s body. The right side comes out looking almost right, but then the left side of his chest looks almost concave, the hip too bony. He erases his lines, attempts to redraw them.

 

“Relax, Mr. Wright,” his professor murmurs behind him.

 

Logan _tries_.

 

He’s almost got it, he thinks, almost starts to feel like he’s getting there when the timer goes off.

 

Julian drops his arms immediately, makes a slight grimace. He rubs at his sore muscles, steps off the platform and dons his robe once more. 

 

Logan scowls at his work — it looks nothing like Julian. He still has to suffer through _two more hours_ of this.

 

The thing is, Logan _wants_ to do better. He knows it doesn’t matter, that he’s graded on effort more than ability. That he could turn in a sketch that looks only vaguely human-like and still get full credit for the course. But he wants to feel like he’s gained something from this class, wants to prove that he’s not completely hopeless.

 

Besides, Julian is the perfect model. It shouldn’t be this difficult to sketch perfection.

 

It’d be different if it was music, he thinks. He speaks music. He understands music. If he could describe Julian through music, he _knows_ he could manage.

 

The idea has him lingering in the practice room the next day, staying behind after his piano instructor leaves. He closes his eyes, pictures Julian’s pose. He can see the lines of his limbs, the slight downturn of his chin. His lips had been relaxed, not curved into a smile like when he introduced himself. There’d been a thoughtful look in his eyes, something almost yearning.

 

He starts slow. A minor key, a simple melody. Something soft. Uncomplicated. 

 

He doesn’t think. He just _plays_. The notes flow from his fingers uninhibited, the pace picking up as he continues. He falls into a key change without meaning to, shifts his right hand up an octave as he imagines sunbeams on golden skin, the sparkle in Julian’s eyes when they catch the light.

 

It doesn’t last long. He’s not much of a composer, really, and he loops back into the introductory theme soon enough. He lets the final chord ring out, almost holds his breath as he listens to it fade.

 

Behind him, someone claps. Logan’s eyes snap open, and he spins around.

 

“That was amazing,” Julian says, leaning against the doorway, “What was that? Mozart? Debussy?”

 

Logan swallows, “Uh…neither. That was just…messing around.”

 

“Well I liked it,” Julian says, “I’m always a little jealous you musicians can do that, you know? Just think of a song in your head and make it happen.”

 

“I can’t, usually,” Logan admits, “It just came to me.”

 

“Well you’re definitely a much better pianist than an artist.”

 

Logan laughs, runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah. Turns out you need the credit to graduate, you know? It’s definitely not my thing.”

 

“Should’ve done what I did,” Julian says, “Talked the art department into giving me credit just to model. You’d be good at it. Don’t think anyone could actually capture all _that_ , though.”

 

“I don’t think I could. Not really into the idea of everyone seeing me naked.”

 

Julian shrugs, “It’s not that weird. I mean, I’m a bit of an exhibitionist so I’m sure that helps.”

 

He’s grinning, and Logan can’t quite tell if he’s kidding or not.

 

“So do you always hang out spying on the music majors?” He asks, pushing his sheet music into his bag.

 

“I have vocal lessons down here,” Julian tells him, “For my musical theatre credit.”

 

“Oh? You any good?”

 

“At acting or singing?”

 

“Both.”

 

Julian’s smile widens, his dimple coming out full force, “I’m alright.”

 

“Maybe I’ll have to see it sometime. You in the play next month?”

 

“I might be the lead.”

 

“So you _are_ good.”

 

“Good enough, I guess.”

 

He’s still in the doorway, doesn’t move even as Logan moves to leave. They’re close, now, and Logan’s almost worked up the courage to ask him for coffee when a door opens nearby. 

 

Julian glances over, “Ah. That’s the student before me. I should head in.”

 

“Right. Have fun with your singing.”

 

“Have fun with your piano. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

 

“Tuesday?”

 

Julian raises an eyebrow at him, “For class? I’m still modeling, you know. Try to get my nose right this time, would you?”

 

He spins away, humming slightly to himself as he heads into his practice room. 

 

Logan watches him until the door swings shut behind him.

 

Tuesday rolls around, and Logan strolls into class with newfound determination. He falters a little when he looks around — the easels are arranged differently, circling a low velvet chaise lounge. Julian’s already there, strewn across the piece of furniture. Their professor is giving him direction, rearranging his limbs and marking the fabric with pale chalk.

 

“Alright, class,” she says, turning to face the students, “This week we’ll be focusing on this one pose, alright? You have two full periods to nail this pose. Try to ignore the chair as best you can — it’s there, of course, but I don’t want it to be the focus of your sketch.”

 

She turns on the timer, and the students raise their pencils.

 

Logan doesn’t. Not yet. He takes a breath, looks over at Julian. His eyes skin over his arms — one thrown along the back of the lounge, one resting lightly against his abdomen. His legs — one stretched along the cushion, the other bent slightly at the knee. His face is neutral, his lips slightly parted. The sun shines on his skin, shimmers in his hair.

 

He looks closer. There’s imperfections there, too — that same small blemish below his lip. A pale scar on his neck. A faded bruise on one knee. 

 

Logan closes his eyes, takes another deep breath.

 

He can hear the music in his head, a variation of that same soft melody that had spilled so easily from his hands.

 

He puts his pencil to the paper.

 

The shrill sound of the timer startles him when it goes off. His hand tenses, a jagged line shooting off to one side of the paper. The other students begin to pack their things.

 

There’s a rustle of movement behind him, his professor’s pleased hum.

 

“Much better, Mr. Wright. _Much_ better.”

 

He’s almost _sad_ , when he steps into class for the final time. Julian’s there again, carefully recreating his pose from last class. The professor adjusts his knee, lines his limbs up with the chalk-marks she’d made two days prior.

 

“You all made a very good start last time,” she says when she turns to the class, “This time, I want you to focus on the details. Add some shading, if you feel comfortable. Some details. We’re all a little rough on eyes, I noticed, so see if you can improve those.”

 

This time, Logan doesn’t need to wait. He can hear the music already, guiding his hand. 

 

He focuses on Julian’s hair, first — the slight waves falling in every direction, the dark curls lining his face. He feels good about the lips, adds just a slight hint of shading beneath the lower one. It’s not perfect, by any means, but he’s almost happy with it.

 

He saves Julian’s eyes for last.

 

They’re not quite right, just yet, one too small and slightly crooked. He hadn’t even attempted the eyelashes last class, unsure exactly of how to sketch them.

 

When he looks up, those eyes are focused right on him. He sees the faintest hint of a smile before Julian schools his expression back into that neutral face, but the eyes don’t leave him. It flusters him a little, and he ducks behind his canvas, tries to line the eyes without ruining his work.

 

When the timer goes off, he lets out a breath.

 

It’s nowhere near perfect, he knows. He’s not even sure it could be considered _good_ , really. But it’s so much better than his first few attempts, and he feels a distinct note of pride as he looks over at his work.

 

He hears footsteps behind him. When he glances back, his professor is smiling.

 

“Excellent work, Mr. Wright.”

 

She squeezes his shoulder, gives him a wink before moving on to the others. 

 

Logan can’t help but grin at his finished sketch, even pulls out his phone and snaps a picture to prove to Derek that he’s not a _total_ fuck-up.

 

“Wow,” Julian says from beside him, still pulling his robe on, “You improved.”

 

“That’s the point of the class, right?”

 

“It’s actually _really_ good,” Julian tells him, “You got my nose right.”

 

Logan feels almost smug, until Julian speaks again.

 

“You do have one pretty notable mistake though,” he says, pointing, “Because you see, I’m pretty sure I have a dick.”

 

Logan’s eyes widen, and he turns back to his canvas in abject horror. Julian laughs behind him, staring at the empty space between his legs. 

 

Logan groans, “I was trying not to objectify you,” he says, “I was trying not to _look_ , and then I guess I…I guess I just forgot to add it in?”

 

Thankfully, Julian doesn’t look too offended.

 

“I wouldn’t actually mind if you objectified me, you know. I’ve been doing it to you.”

 

Logan swallows, “Oh. Have you?”

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

“Well, if you want to pose for me later, maybe I could finish it.”

 

It’s a bold move, to proposition him in the middle of class. He realizes a bit belatedly that it’s not entirely appropriate, that people can _hear_ him, that Julian’s still very much draped in a nearly-sheer robe. But his eyes run up and down Logan’s body, his lips curving upwards.

 

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Julian drawls, “If I get naked in front of you again it won’t be while we sit on opposite sides of the room.”

 

“This is my last class of the day.”

 

“Funny. Mine too.”

 

“We could go get coffee, maybe?”

 

“I like coffee.”

 

“Good,” Logan can’t help but smile, bends to pick his bag off the floor, “Right now?”

 

“I should probably put on actual clothes first,” Julian muses, “I don’t really mind, but the general public might. And you’re paying, by the way.”

 

“Oh I am, am I?”

 

“Yes,” Julian nods, “As an apology.”

 

“An apology?”

 

“For forgetting my dick.”


	72. Meta

They’re surrounded. There's at least ten men with weapons trained on them, and Logan knows at least a handful of them are metahuman. He’s unsure, exactly, how powerful they are. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s outmatched.

 

Julian, however, is a different story.

 

He’s a little worn out, after the battle. Logan can hear the quickened breathing, the way Julian adjusts his stance to stabilize himself. His eyes flash, his fists clench.

 

He’s still got a little bit of fight left in him.

 

Julian steps in front of him, one arm darting out to cover Logan’s chest. Instinctually, Logan pulls the other boy closer, until Julian’s back is pressed tightly against Logan’s chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as Julian raises his hands, the bright burst of fire still intense enough to flash through his closed eyelids. The swell of flames is white-hot against his skin, and he can smell the singeing of his hair and eyelashes. Still, the fire doesn’t quite touch him -- not like this, with Julian wrapped protectively around him, a human shield keeping him safe from the flames.

 

“ _Go_ ,” Julian shouts, his voice barely audible over the roar over the flames, “Back the way we came, Lo, _now_!”

 

Logan growls low in his throat, tightens his grip around Julian’s waist, “You know I’m not leaving here alone.”

 

Julian yells something back, but Logan’s not listening. He raises his eyes upward, struggles to see through the flames and the smoke encompassing the building. There’s a flicker of light, up above -- the slightest weakness in the rafters.

 

An escape.

 

“Hold on,” he says, gripping a handful of Julian’s shirt in one hand. He slides one leg between Julian’s, hooks an ankle around the other boy’s calf.

 

They’ve got this down to an art now. Julian barely reacts as Logan spreads his wings and rockets into the air, moves only to angle his own hands downward, the flames still swirling from his palms. Logan ducks his head as they shoot toward the roof, hopes the fire below has weakened the structure enough that his shoulders will be enough to break through.

 

They’re lucky. It hurts, of course. It always does, when Logan uses his body to break through walls. But the wood splinters easily enough for them, and it’s not long until the warehouse is well below their feet.

 

Logan doesn’t like sticking around long, after. But he knows Julian does, that he won’t be able to rest unless he’s sure they’ve taken care of them all. He slows the flap of his wings, hovers best as he can over the scene. Black smoke engulfs half the block now, and the distant shriek of sirens rings in Logan’s ears.

 

“Do you see anyone?” Julian asks, his voice a little weak, “Did anyone get out?”

 

He can barely see _anything_ , below, “No. I think you got them all.”

 

“Good,” Julian breathes out a sigh of relief, and his body goes limp in Logan’s arms.

 

It’s not the first time, of course, that Logan’s returned to the Academy with an unconscious partner. It’s a bit of a drawback of Julian’s power -- despite his standing as one of the most powerful metahumans around, pulling out the flames always takes a lot out of him. Logan knows, realistically, that it’s only temporary. He’s seen Julian recover from worse fights than this. But he worries, always, that _this_ fight will be the one that drains him too much, that _this_ will be the fight he can’t fully recover from.

 

The others are ready, when they get there. Merril’s rushing down the steps, a medical bag slapping against her hip as she tugs on a pair of latex gloves. Derek and Bailey are right behind her, their eyes fixed on the pair crash-landing on the lawn.

 

“Any injuries?” Merril asks matter-of-factly, snapping open the case at her side, “Or is this just a power drain?”

 

“We were outnumbered,” Logan says, shifting Julian in his arms, “He did too much, he just needs rest.”

 

Merril hums as she peers down at Julian’s side, and her fingers deftly uncap a syringe of pale blue liquid. Logan’s still not quite sure what it is -- some invention of Drew and Satoru’s, a concoction meant to help Julian recover quicker. Merril pushes the needle into the meat of Julian’s shoulder, and the boy whimpers softly in Logan’s grasp.

 

“Sh,” Merril says, softly. She lays her free hand against Julian’s cheek, “Sleep, now. Until you’re better.”

 

The effect is instantaneous. Julian’s head lilts to the side, his lips every so slightly parted in rest.

 

“You’re getting better at that,” Bailey says, looking at Merril in admiration.

 

“He’s weak right now,” Merril explains, “It’s easier, when they can’t fight back. Take him to his room, would you? And make sure there’s food for him when he wakes up.”

 

“Already ordered,” Derek tells her, as he steps forward, “Here, Lo, I can take him. Let her look you over. I don’t like some of those bruises.”

 

“I’m fine. I got him.”

 

Logan side-steps the group surrounding them, carefully makes his way up the stairs of the building before them. Julian’s room is towards the back of the house, in one of the quieter corners. His bed is a mess, the blankets strewn onto the floor around it. Logan sets him on top of the mattress, pushes a pillow beneath his head and pulls his shoes from his feet. The jacket is a little more difficult -- if it weren’t for Merril’s order, Logan’s sure he’d wake Julian with all the jostling. The jeans, however, will have to stay. Julian wears his pants so tight Logan’s not sure how he gets _in_ them, let alone out.

 

Once he’s gotten Julian as comfortable as possible, he pulls the blankets up to his chin. He looks so different like this. Younger and vulnerable, nothing like the incredibly powerful metahuman he is.

 

Logan glances backwards at the leather armchair in the corner. It’s where he usually waits for Julian to wake up. But he’s so _tired_ , today, and Julian’s bed looks so comfortable.

 

It’s big enough for two.

 

He kicks off his boots as he climbs onto the mattress, pulling the corner of the comforter across his chest.

 

He’s asleep mere moments after his head hits the pillow.

 

The two of them don’t always work together. Sometimes the threat requires a different dynamic. Logan’s gone into fights with Derek by his side. With Charlie, Justin, Blaine. Julian’s frequently partnered with Riley, with _Austin_ , once or twice. He’s fought with those metahumans from California, before. But Logan and Julian work together so goddamn _well_. It had come as a shock to everyone, the first time, how in sync the pair of them had been. Logan understands the necessity of branching out, of course. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t prefer Julian.

 

“Absolutely not,” he snaps, sixteen hours after their return to the Academy, “Julian’s not ready yet. We can’t go in there, you’ll need to find someone else.”

 

“I’m _ready_ ,” Julian insists, curled onto the chair to Logan’s left, “I just needed a nap, that’s all.”

 

“You’re not ready,” Derek says flatly, “You know the rules. Twenty-four hours after a fainting spell, at the very least.”

 

“The rules are arbitrary. I can fight. You all know I can.”

 

“It’s not a good idea. Not when Logan can just take someone else instead. I’ll go. The two of us can handle it.”

 

“I can do it,” Julian argues, “We’ve been working these guys for _months_ , you have to let me finish.”

 

“We don’t have to let you do anything,” Derek says, “The answer is no, Julian. You’re staying here. Logan and I will go in. Isn’t that right, Lo?”

 

Two sets of brown eyes turn Logan’s way. Derek’s are stern, insistent. Julian’s are angry, narrowed as he dares Logan to disagree with him.

 

“Julian stays,” Logan says, finally, “We’ll go.”

 

Julian’s chair screeches against the wooden floor, “ _Fuck_ you.”

 

He storms off, his footsteps a thundering sound against the stairs as he retreats. Logan winces at the distant slam of a door.

 

“He’ll get over it,” Derek says, “He always does. Now come on, we need to work out our game plan.”

 

They couldn’t have known.

 

There’s no _way_ they could’ve known one of the men had survived Julian’s inferno. None of them could have predicted the vengeance the man would feel, how quickly he’d brought a force together to fight back. They expect an easy fight -- two men, maybe three.

 

They get thirty.

 

It would be difficult enough, if the thirty men facing them were average humans. But at least ten of them are metas, and Logan feels nothing but _cold_ as he stares at the semi-circle surrounding them.

 

“Alright, you fuckers,” Derek mutters, squaring his shoulders, “Just you _try_ and take me.”

 

They do their best. They really, _really_ try.

 

But they’ve barely thinned the herd down to half by the time their energy begins to wane. One of the metahumans on the opposing side had thrown a fucking _railroad spike_ Logan’s way, had managed to pierce through the center of one of Logan’s wings. The pain had been blinding, and he’d fallen to his knees as his vision whited out.

 

He can hear the metahuman moving his way. He feels the shift in the air, the way the ground shakes as someone steps near.

 

Is this how he dies?

 

There’s a shout from somewhere near, a loud bang. A flash. Fire.

 

“Don’t fucking touch him,” a familiar voice spits, full of venom.

 

Logan’s eyes snap open. Julian’s standing directly in front of him, blocking the other meta from view. He holds his arms aloft, flames dancing between his fingertips. His skin is almost glowing -- Logan’s only seen that happen once, and the results were catastrophic.

 

“Jules -- “ he gasps, barely able to speak through the pain, “You can’t. You’re not ready.”

 

“I’m always ready for this,” Julian says. His body jerks forward, and a fireball larger than anything Logan’s ever seen erupts from his hands. Flames spiral out from the center, skinny tendrils of fire wrapping around the body of the man who’d injured Logan.

 

He screams. His body flails wildly, but the flames keep hold of him. They engulf the metahuman, and Logan watches in slight horror as he convulses, as he falls to the ground in agony.

 

The noise draws the attention of the others. The three men Derek had been fighting turn away, rush forward with guns drawn.

 

They’re no match for Julian.

 

“ _Derek, get down!_ ” Logan shouts, a moment before Julian’s arms shoot outwards. He hopes Derek heard in time, hopes the explosion of flames doesn’t touch him.

 

Logan’s never seen Julian like this before. It almost looks like he’s on fire himself, his skin shifting between red, orange, gold. He steps through the fire before him. He’ll be okay, Logan knows -- Julian’s never shown anything but immunity to the flames. Still, it makes him uneasy, and he pushes himself to his feet.

 

“ _Logan_ ,” A hand comes down heavy on his shoulder as Derek appears at his side, “The whole place is gonna blow. We have to get out of here.”

 

“No,” Logan says, “Not without him. Not without Julian.”

 

“He’ll be _fine_ ,” Derek insists, “He’s the one doing it! We have to leave _now!_ ”

 

“I can’t,” Logan tries. But he’s too badly injured, too weak to resist when Derek drags him backwards.

 

They’re barely free of the doorway when the building crumbles. Derek shouts, and Logan instinctively shields him with his one good wing. Before either of them can move another step, they’re rocked off their feet by an earth-shattering explosion.

 

Logan’s not quite sure how long he’s knocked out for. There’s a dull ringing in his ears when his eyes open again, not an inch of his body that doesn’t hurt. There’s something soft and white falling from the sky -- snow?

 

 

But no, that can’t be right. It’s summer, isn’t it?

 

He blinks. Tries to focus.

 

Not snow.

 

Ash.

 

It hurts to sit up. Beside him, Derek groans, attempts to do the same. Logan raises his eyes to the building they’d been in moments before.

 

It’s gone.

 

There’s nothing but flames and smoke where the structure had once stood. It’s a thousand times worse than the warehouse he’d escaped from with Julian. There’s not a chance in hell anyone could have survived this.

 

“No,” he breathes, “No. Julian.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek mutters, his eyes wide with horror, “Oh _shit_.”

 

Logan scrambles to his feet, held back from the flames only by Derek’s vice-like grip.

 

“ _Julian!_ ” he screams, his voice breaking halfway through the word. His breath comes in sharp gasps, a result of exhaustion and smoke inhalation. But he can’t focus on the pain right now.

 

He nearly sobs when a figure emerges from the flames. Julian’s covered in them, the fire licking at his skin. His eyes are glowing as he steps forward. He’s terrifying.

 

He’s beautiful.

 

Julian turns once he’s free of the inferno. His head tilts to the side, like he’s surveying his work. He must like what he sees -- the flames subside, his skin gradually flickering back to his normal golden tan. The flames had incinerated his clothing entirely; when he turns to face them, he’s naked as the day he was born. His eyes narrow in on Logan, tiny remnants of flames still sparking at his fingertips.

 

“Are you okay?” he says, his voice more of a demand than a question.

 

Logan nods, the searing pain in one wing barely registering, “Yeah. Yes. I’m okay.”

 

“Good,” Julian nods once, the flames snuffing out in his hands, “Good.”

 

He crumples to the ground.

 

Logan reaches him first, Derek not far behind. Julian’s limp, when he reaches for him. Lifeless. His skin is cool to the touch, with no remnants of the heat from his fire to be found. He doesn’t move when Logan shakes him, doesn’t react at all when Logan screams his name.

 

The sound of sirens swells behind them, punctured by the loud shouts of half-familiar voices. Someone tugs at Logan’s arm, and he shoves them away.

 

“We need to take him,” someone says, urgently, “Now, Logan.”

 

“You need to get out of here, too,” a second voice adds, “You need a medic.”

 

“I can’t leave him,” Logan says, desperately, “I can’t.”

 

“You _have_ to,” someone insists, but Logan’s hands are white-knuckled on Julian’s body. He can’t let go. He _can’t_. Not until he knows Julian’s going to be okay, until Julian opens his eyes.

 

There’s a slight scuffle behind him, and a delicate hand rests on his shoulder.

 

Merril’s voice is soft when she leans in, “Let him go, Logan. Let us take him. You have to.”

 

His arms fall away from Julian, and he watches in stony silence as the others take him away. Someone pulls him to his feet, too, wraps an arm around his waist and takes some of his weight.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Charlie says, “We’ll take care of him. Of all of you.”

 

As it turns out, Logan’s wounds are a little more serious than anticipated. He’s confined to bed rest for three days, fussed over by everyone with medical training that they have. A stinging salve is rubbed against his skin, the hole in his wing poked and prodded and frowned over.

 

But he doesn’t give them the time to heal it.

 

The moment he’s able to stand, he limps from the room, twists and turns his way through the hall until he finds Julian.

 

The other boy is unconscious, still. They’d warned him in advance, of course, but the sight is still a bit of a shock. He’s never known Julian to take longer than half a day to wake up, more than two to force his way back to the forefront of a fight. He sits by his side, perched loosely on the edge of the bed. Julian’s hand lays flat against the blankets, and Logan takes it firmly between his own.

 

He waits.

 

For four days, he waits, barely moving from Julian’s side. He dozes, off and on, sleeps for an hour at a time and wakes to resume his silent vigil.

 

Almost precisely one week after the fight, Logan wakes to the sight of dark brown eyes watching him. It takes a moment for the full gravity of the sight to hit him. But when it does, he jolts upright, his mouth falling open.

 

“Have you been here all this time?” Julian asks, his voice raspy, “That’s bad for your back, you know.”

 

“You’re _awake_ ,” Logan breathes, hardly able to believe it, “Oh my god, Jules…”

 

“I got hurt, didn’t I? Everything hurts.”

 

“Is it bad?” Logan frowns, leans forward, “I can go get Bailey, he and Merril have been taking care of you.”

 

Julian ignores the suggestion, “You. You got hurt too. Your wing…”

 

“Will be fine,” Logan lies, “Don’t worry about me.”

 

Julian smiles, a soft, lazy upturn to his lips, “I always worry about you.”

 

“Is that why you came? Because you worry?”

 

Julian raises a hand, rests his knuckles lightly against Logan’s still-scarred cheek.

 

“You’re so stupid,” he says, a note of amusement in his voice, “So goddamn stupid.”

 

Logan can’t help but laugh, “I’m not the one who marched into a fight I didn’t belong in.”

 

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

“I still think you’re an idiot for doing it,” Logan tells him, “But I’m pretty sure both Derek and I would be dead if you hadn’t. So thank you.”

 

Julian drops his hand, watches Logan through half-lidded eyes.

 

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” he says, “I think I’ll be okay. You should get some rest, too.”

 

“I’m staying,” Logan says firmly, “Until I know for sure you’re going to be okay.”

 

Julian peers up at him, his eyebrows knitting together, “Why do you care so much, anyway?”

 

Logan smiles, squeezes Julian’s hand. His eyes sting with unshed tears.

 

“You’re so stupid, Julian” he says, “So goddamn stupid.”


	73. Airplane

Logan’s not exactly a huge fan of flying. He’s not scared of it by any means, has never been the type to grip his armrests, white-knuckled, for take offs and landings. He’s just not a fan of the boredom, of the crowds and cramped spaces, the crying babies and the poor smells.

 

It doesn’t help that he’s running a little late, today. He’s not quite sure how time had gotten away from him, but he only just makes it to the gate before it closes. His seat is near the front of the plane, the third row of first class, and the man seated in the row beside him already appears fast asleep against the window. 

 

Logan slides into his own chair, pushes aside his seat-partners messy bag with the tip of his shoe. The man doesn’t budge, and Logan notes the bulky pair of headphones resting solidly on his head.

 

At least he won’t have to suffer through a chatty neighbor, this time.

 

It’s almost a shame, he thinks off-handedly. The man to his left is positively beautiful, even with his mouth hanging open and soft snores spilling from his throat. He’s vaguely familiar-looking, but Logan doesn’t want to stare at this sleeping stranger for too long.

 

Logan gets as comfortable as he can in his seat, scrolls through his own phone and selects a playlist to get him through this flight. It’s not too long, thankfully, just a few short hours between New York and Los Angeles. He’s hoping to squeeze in a nap, at some point. He spreads his legs out as far as he can, leans sideways and closes his eyes as the flight attendants begin the same safety briefing he’s heard a hundred times.

 

He must fall asleep rather quickly, because the next time he opens his eyes it’s to a soft hand on his shoulder, the calm tones of the first class flight attendant asking if he’d like anything to drink with his meal. He’s not quite twenty-one yet, but he’s aware he looks older than he is, and she doesn’t ask for identification when he orders a gin and tonic. He takes the cold glass from her, nods in thanks as she sets a tray before him. There’s a hint of awkwardness in her eyes as she glances to the sleeping man beside the window, and Logan not-so-subtly stretches his arms, jostling the man’s elbow a little.

 

He wakes with a start, jolts a bit in his seat at the sudden touch. His eyes snap open, and he blinks a few times in confusion.

 

“Your meal, Mr. Larson,” the attendant says, handing the man a second tray, “Anything to drink?”

 

“Just more coffee, please,” the man says, scooping up an empty mug from the floor beside him and handing it over.

 

He yawns, loudly, pushes his headphones around his neck and gulps down half the mug in one go. The flight attendant moves along, and Logan glances beside him. 

 

“Larson? Julian Larson?”

 

“The one and only.”

 

“Knew I recognized you.”

 

Julian pops off the lid of his lunch, raises an eyebrow, “So you watch something other than CSPAN in your house, then?”

 

“Keep up with politics, do you?”

 

Julian snorts, “Hardly. Your stepmom threw some benefit my mom and I went to. Her house is covered in pictures of you.”

 

“She would spend an entire charity gala talking about me.”

 

“Only because she caught me looking at one. She really got a kick out of it when I asked what modeling agency you worked with.”

 

Logan smirks and turns to his own food. There’s a bright orange allergen warning sticker plastered over the lid, and he catches Julian eyeing it.

 

“Not allergic to chicken curry, right?” He asks, gesturing at his own food, “It’d be bad press if I involuntarily killed someone on this flight.”

 

“Peanuts,” Logan explains, “Also shellfish. And bees, but I’m fairly sure that won’t be an issue on this flight.”

 

“Could be a fun sequel to Snakes on a Plane, though.”

 

“Be sure to credit me for the idea when you film it.”

 

Julian grins, his dark eyes sparkling a little as he sips at his coffee once more.they slip into companionable silence as they eat, and Logan hands over his own chocolate muffin when he catches Julian eyeing it hungrily. 

 

It’s not until a good half hour after their meal that it happens.

 

He and Julian have been talking, since lunch, both abandoning their headphones in favor of light conversation. It’s a little surprising how week they get along - Logan’s not typically fond of Hollywood types.

 

Nevertheless, he finds himself laughing at one of Julian’s stories, leaning close as they talk. It’s perhaps why he doesn’t notice the bag ripping open nearby, not until a familiar smell hits his nostrils and throat all at once. He recoils, once he places the scent, and Julian cuts himself off mid-sentence.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, frowning, “Is it something I said?”

 

“Peanuts,” Logan mutters, grabbing for his water bottle and sipping, “They usually make an announcement about an allergy, but I guess they didn’t — I wasn’t listening. I’m not sure.”

 

Julian leans over, peers entire the aisle and narrows his eyes at someone nearby.

 

“Excuse me, could you get rid of those? He’s extremely allergic.”

 

Logan hears, vaguely, a voice in a language he doesn’t understand. Julian makes a sound of exasperation and repeats himself, this time in the same tongue. French? Italian?

 

Usually, his allergy really only kicks in when he eats something himself. He’d had one unfortunate interaction, back in his teens, where it had flared up after he’d kissed a boy who’d recently eaten a peanut butter sandwich. But here, in the tight space and stagnant air, his reaction is so much stronger than normal. He tries to stave it off with small sips of water, squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on his breathing.

 

It must be obvious how badly it’s affecting him. Julian unbuckles his seat belt, stands up and calls over a flight attendant. Logan’s unable to follow the conversation, is starting to panic a little bit at how quickly his throat seems to be closing up.

 

“Logan,” there’s a firm squeeze on his wrist, and Julian’s face floats before him. He says something else, something that sounds like doctor and landing, but it’s when Logan hears the words Epi-pen that he manages to respond. His eyes flicker to the small leather bag squeezed under the seat in front of him, and Julian reaches for it.

 

There’s another hand on his shoulder, someone else kneeling in the aisle beside him. Julian rummages through the bag, wraps his fingers around the bright yellow case of Logan’s epi-pen and pulls it out. Someone grabs it from him — the doctor Julian mentioned? — and Logan cries out as a sharp pain radiates in his thigh.

 

It takes him a moment, to regain control. There’s nervous talking around him, people frantically asking if he’s okay. It’s a little humiliating, honestly, to be fussed over like this.

 

“I’m fine,” He croaks out, “Thank you. But I’m fine.”

 

“We’re landing in Denver,” someone tells him, “they called for paramedics already.”

 

“I’m fine,” Logan insists, “We don’t need to land. I’m fine.”

 

“We’re already on our descent, Mr Wright. We’re legally required to provide you with medical attention.”

 

Logan wants to argue. But he still feels like absolute shit, is still struggling to breathe just a little. There’s a soft pressure on his hand, and he looks down to find Julian’s fingers twined through his own. It’s reassuring, somehow, and he tried to focus on the warmth of human contact as he leans back and waits. He’s still not quite feeling like himself when they land, doesn’t argue with the paramedics who usher him off the aircraft and into a small room nearby.

 

“Wait — “ he hesitates for a moment, “My stuff — my bag, phone...”

 

“I have it,” a voice sounds behind him, and Julian’s hand brushes his shoulder, “Just let them look you over, please.”

 

They pull Logan into a tiny, clinic-like room, sit him down and frown over him. The doctor is nice enough, he supposes, just doing her job as she monitors his vitals and asks him questions.

 

“I’m really okay now,” he promises, “I don’t need all this.”

 

“Allergic reactions can be extremely dangerous. You can’t really predict how bad they’ll be, or if they’ll stick around even after the epi-pen. I’d like to keep you here for an hour or two, just to be safe. Unless you’d like us to transfer you to a hospital...”

 

“God, no. This is fine. I’d really just like to get to LA.”

 

“I understand, sir,” the doctor says patiently, “But I’m sure you’d much rather get there alive.”

 

It’s a little brutal, but she must know it’s enough to convince him to stay. He grumbles a bit, but sits back on the chair and folds his arms over his chest. 

 

He almost forgets about Julian, until the door swings open and the man steps in. He’s got Logan’s bag over one shoulder, a separate plastic bag dangling from his other hand. 

 

“I thought some food might help,” Julian offers, holding up the bag, “I know we just ate, but maybe it’ll help get your energy back up? It’s peanut-free, I swear.”

 

The doctor glances over at the food when Julian takes it out, but the bean-and-vegetable burrito bowls seem to pass her inspection well enough.

 

Julian seems almost cheerful as he sits across from Logan, hands over a plastic fork and opens a second bowl for himself.

 

“You don’t have to stay,” Logan tells him, “I’m sure you have much better things to do than sit through a stranger’s medical emergency.” 

 

Julian shrugs, shoves a mouthful of rice into his mouth, “Nothing on my schedule until tomorrow, actually. Plus there’s not another available flight for four hours. I got us both on it, though.”

 

“Oh,” Logan blinks, “Thank you.”

 

“No problem. Oh, and this — “ Julian fishes inside his jacket pocket, tosses Logan’s phone at him, “I hope you’re not pissed, but I called your stepmom for you. She was your emergency contact on your phone. Figured it was better she heard you were okay before this gets on Twitter, you know?”

 

“Fuck, do you think someone would do that?”

 

Julian pulls a face, “One time I got champagne drunk and threw up in a gutter in West Hollywood. It took sixteen minutes for that to go viral. Granted, I’m not sure if you’re quite as recognizable, but still.”

 

“Point taken. Thanks for that, too.”

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

“Seriously, though, you don’t have to stick around. I’m sure there’s an airport lounge around here that’s way more comfortable.”

 

Julian raises one eyebrow, “You trying to get rid of me, Wright?”

 

“No,” Logan says, a little too quickly, “I just...I don’t want to force you to stay here.”

 

“I’m having the time of my life,” Julian says, scooping up another forkful of food, “Hot plane guy I was flirting with has an allergic reaction and I get to help save his life? That’s one of my most eventful flights yet.”

 

“One of?”

 

“One of,” Julian says with an over exaggerated wink.

 

“So you were flirting, then? I wasn’t sure if I was imaging it.”

 

“Definitely flirting. I might’ve asked you if you wanted to join the mile high club, but then you had to go into anaphylactic shock on me.”

 

“My bad,” Logan says drily, “I’ll try not to on the next flight.”

 

“I’d appreciate it.”

 

There’s an awkward throat clearing behind them, the doctors not at all subtle reminder that they’re not alone in the room. Logan feels his face heat up. Julian grins.

 

They’re not seated together, when Logan’s finally cleared to fly. He’s put in the very front, where the cabin staff can keep an eye on him. Julian’s a few rows back, once again leaning heavily against the window. Logan wants to look back so badly, frantically tries to think of a way to get some kind of contact information before they part ways for good.

 

He’s considering scrawling his number on a napkin, asking an attendant to slip it to Julian. But then there’s a brush against his shoulder, and Julian gives him a pointed look just before he slips into the restrooms.

 

Logan doesn’t hesitate.

 

It’s awkward, of course. Cramped and uncomfortable and not nearly enough space for two men of their size. But Julian laughs when Logan bangs his hip against the sink, and kisses him harder, and Logan figures he can handle a little awkwardness.

 

“I put my number in your phone, by the way,” Julian says casually, as they make themselves presentable after, “No pressure, I mean. If you want this to be it that’s fine. But if you want — “

 

“I’ll call you,” Logan interrupts, “I will definitely be calling you.”

 

Julian’s smile is beautiful. He leans in once more, kisses the corner of Logan’s mouth.

 

“I’ll be waiting for your call, then.”

 


	74. Stardust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well didn't this turn into a monster of a chapter

It’s no surprise, that the Hummel boy draws the attention of more than a few boys in the small village of Wall. His family make up the first newcomers to the town in decades, and the young man’s bright eyes and delicate features are a very welcome sight to the handful of townspeople inclined in that direction. 

 

Logan Wright, the mayor’s boy, is one of the first in line. 

 

He brings handfuls of flowers to the Hummel residence, greets the boy’s father with a charming smile and polite platitudes. 

 

Kurt looks a little hesitant, when he peeks around the corner. He frowns at the bright blooms in Logan’s hands, takes them with a furrowed brow.

 

“Thank you,” he says, the faintest trace of a smile on his face, “They’re beautiful.”

 

“Nearly as beautiful as you.”

 

The boy blushes. His father clears his throat.

 

“I had hoped you’d be willing to join me for a picnic this afternoon,” Logan says, “In the meadow. I have food prepared. Champagne. Some lovely pastries.”

 

Kurt wavers for a moment, his eyes shifting between Logan’s face and the flowers in his hand.

 

“I suppose there’s no harm in a picnic.”

 

Logan’s just the smallest bit hurt, when Kurt delicately sits several feet away from him. They’re separated by the baskets of food, the bottle of expensive champagne Logan had stolen from his father’s cabinet. Kurt only nibbles at the food, keeps shooting Logan curious glances.

 

“Do you like it?” Logan asks, gesturing at Kurt’s mostly-full glass, “I wasn’t sure of your tastes…”

 

“It’s fine. I’ve never actually tried champagne before, but it’s good. I like it.”

 

“Good.”

 

Logan beams at him. This is going well, he thinks. He’s rounded up the best foods in the village, can deal with his father’s fury over the stolen champagne later.

 

“I do think I should tell you,” Kurt says, haltingly, “Blaine Anderson and I...I mean, the two of us are...I believe he intends on asking my father for my hand, soon.”

 

Logan’s champagne glass freezes midway to his face.

 

“Blaine Anderson?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“But he’s so…” Logan mulls over his thoughts, tries to tame his words, “He’s so very...short.”

 

“Short?” Kurt frowns, “That’s hardly a reason to turn him down. I don’t care if he’s short. I’m in love with him.”

 

The words twist in Logan’s chest.

 

“In love with him? Your family only moved to the village a fortnight ago. You hardly know him.”

 

Kurt smiles, softly, a faraway look on his face, “Time doesn’t mean anything, when you meet the right person. When you know, you know.”

 

“But he’s -- I would make you happy. If you chose me, instead.”

 

“I’m sorry, Logan. But I  _ have _ chosen.”

 

The rejection is oddly kind. Kurt leans over, wraps one narrow hand around Logan’s own and squeezes softly. He leaves not long after, and Logan watches the boy walk away from him.

 

Logan doesn’t move. He can’t bear the idea of returning empty-hearted, doesn’t want to explain to his father that the champagne he’d stolen had been for naught.

 

Dusk begins to fall soon enough, and Logan sighs as he watches the colors of the sky fade from blue to pinks and oranges, to dark violets, to black. He finally admits defeat, reaches for the basket to pack up his things.

 

A sudden flash from above draws his attention back to the sky.

 

He’s nearly blinded by the white light, brings an arm up to shield his eyes.

 

A star.

 

A falling star, one that looks so much closer than any Logan’s ever seen. He stares, curious, watches the light vanish into the trees.

 

A fallen star. An honest-to-god  _ star _ .

Blaine Anderson could never top a gift like that.

 

What sane man would turn down a proposal that came with the gift of a  _ star _ ?

 

He doesn’t stop to think the plan through. Doesn’t return home for supplies. He gathers up the remainder of the food from the picnic, stuffs it haphazardly into his basket and holds the bundle over the crook of his elbow. 

 

He’s never actually approached the wall before. It’s well-known throughout the village that it can’t be crossed, but for some odd reason he’s never stopped to consider  _ why _ . 

 

But there’s a man there, standing at the narrow chasm that serves as the only break in the stone. He’s leaning heavily against a wooden cane when Logan approaches, raises his eyes just slightly to regard the newcomer.

 

“Good evening,” the man says, “Is there something I can help you with?”

 

“I’d like to cross,” Logan says, “To go beyond the wall.”

 

“No one goes beyond the wall.”

 

“Well I’d like to.”

 

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

The man tilts his head, “How about you answer my question, first -- why is it so important for you to cross the wall?”

 

“Did you see the falling star? It fell just beyond the trees, I saw it.”

 

“Ah, so you mean to fetch a star?” the man looks intrigued now, a faint smile on his lips, “That does sound like an adventure.”

 

“I have to find it. There’s a boy, back home, and I mean to marry him. If I can bring him a star…”

 

The smile fades, “So you’d like to present the star as an engagement present.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“For a boy back home.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Are you in love with this boy?”

 

Logan blinks, “Of course I am.”

 

“Of  _ course _ you are,” the man surveys him, his eyes skimming Logan’s face, “Love is an odd sort of thing, isn’t it?”

 

He seems to be looking through Logan, now, as if his mind is far away from his body.

 

“I was in love before,” the man says, “Some time ago.”

 

“...what happened?”

 

“She was lost. Or I was.”

 

Logan’s nothing more than befuddled, now, staring at the man blocking his path. He feels as if they’re talking around the subject, as if the man intends to distract him long enough that Logan loses interest.

 

“Look, sir…”

 

“Oh, no need for formalities, my dear boy. You may call me Harvey.”

 

“Harvey, then…”

 

“I’ll let you pass,” Harvey says, much to Logan’s surprise, “On one condition.”

 

“Anything.”

 

“If you find my Silvia beyond the wall...tell her that her Gregory still loves her dearly.”

 

Logan frowns, “I thought you said your name was Harvey.”

 

“I said you may  _ call _ me Harvey.”

 

Logan blinks. The man steps aside, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.

 

“Oh,” he adds, as Logan passes, “There’s one more thing -- don’t be alarmed if the adventure you seek diverges from the adventure you desire.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

 

The man smiles cryptically, leans against his cane once more and turns away from Logan. He hesitates just a moment, staring at the strange figure. But he has a star to seek.

 

The trees before him stretch higher than he thought possible. The path before him is only barely lit by moonlight, dark enough that he stumbles more than once as he traverses through the thick forest. He tries not to think too hard about the strange rustling around him, to ignore the ominous sounds of unseen creatures.

 

It never occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know what a star  _ looks _ like. That he has no idea what he’s even looking for, what traces he might stumble upon.

 

It doesn’t occur to him, at least, until he steps into the star’s crater.

 

The picnic basket falls from his arms as he tumbles into the deep hole, and he shouts as he falls head-over-heels. There’s another sound, almost like an echo of his own yell, as he lands on something surprisingly soft.

 

For a moment, he doesn’t move. He tries to catch his breath, to regain his bearings.

 

“So you’re  _ not _ going to get off me, then?”

 

The voice is scathing, loud in his ear. Logan raises his head, finds himself pressed nose-to-nose with a strange man.

 

“Oh, I didn’t -- ” Logan pushes himself up, rolls off the man and jumps to his feet, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see...are you okay?”

 

“Am I okay? Am I  _ okay _ ?” The man, strangely, looks skyward. He spreads his arms to the side, looks back towards Logan, “How on  _ earth _ could I possibly be  _ okay _ ?”

 

“Wow, okay. It was an accident, alright? And I barely landed on you, anyway. I’m the one who fell.”

 

“ _ You’re _ the one who fell?  _ I’m _ the one who fell!”

 

“So we both fell, then. There’s no need to be so dramatic about it.”

 

“We didn’t  _ both _ fall,” the strange man says, rolling his eyes, “Yours was hardly a stumble. I’m the one who fell from the skies.”

 

“The skies?”

 

Logan frowns at the man, looks closer. He’s draped in a loose, silvery fabric that seems to shimmer with each movement, like tiny diamonds are sewn into every thread. His skin seems to glow with a faint golden sheen, his dark hair laced with even more shimmering threads. He’s beautiful, almost inhumanely so. 

 

It shouldn’t make sense. And yet it does, in an instant.

 

“You’re the star,” Logan breathes, stunned, “You...you’re actually the  _ star _ .”

 

“Well of course I am. You  _ are _ standing in my crater.”

 

“This is perfect. This is -- you’re exactly what I was looking for!” Logan grabs the star by the wrist, “You have to come with me, he’ll love you.”

 

“He?” The star snatches back his arm, “Who is  _ he _ ?”

 

“Kurt. My fiance. Well, he  _ will _ be my fiance, once I bring him you.”

 

“So I’m a gift, is that it? I’ll be, what, this  _ Kurt’s _ slave? A pretty star to marvel at, to show off to his friends?”

 

“Well…” Logan frowns, “No, of course not.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“I...I hadn’t really thought about it, I suppose? I didn’t think you’d be a man.”

 

“Well I am,” the star folds his arms across his chest, “With a name and everything. It’s Julian, by the way.”

 

“Julian. I’m Logan.”

 

“Well, Logan. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not follow you to your dear fiance. So it’s been very  _ un _ pleasant to meet you, I hope to never see you again.”

 

Julian turns away, strides to the edge of the crater and shoves his fingers into the flattened soil. He climbs up -- three, four steps, then slips and tumbles back to the ground. Logan watches, mildly amused, as the man dusts himself off, tries again.  _ Fails _ again.

 

“You don’t happen to need any help, do you?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Julian spits, just before he slips down the sharp incline again, “It’s just...a little steeper than it looks.”

 

He huffs in frustration, puts hands to hips and scowls up at the obstacle in front of him.

 

“Tell you what,” Logan offers, “How about I help you up, and once you’re there you can help pull  _ me _ up?”

 

“Why would you help me? I’m not going back with you.”

 

“Because,” Logan says patiently, “I can’t exactly get out of here without help, either. So either we both die down here, or we help each other out.”

 

“I won’t die. I’m a  _ star _ . We’re immortal.”

 

“Then you’ll be sitting down here watching  _ me _ die, at which point you’ll be stuck here alone for who knows how long.”

 

Julian seems to consider this, for a moment. His lips press together as he eyes the dirt wall. He glances back at Logan and sighs heavily.

 

“Fine. Help me out first, then I’ll help you.”

 

Even with their combined efforts, it takes some time. The crater that the star -- that  _ Julian _ \-- had formed stretched over even their combined heights, and Logan had nearly exhausted his strength lifting the other man over the edge. Julian, in turn, had frowned down at Logan from above, glanced around for a moment before untying the long silvery rope serving as a belt for his loose tunic.

 

“Pull harder,” Logan orders, as he tightens his own grip on the rope, “I can only do so much from down here.”

 

“ _ Pull harder _ ,” Julian repeats, mockingly, “As if you expect me to be in tip-top shape after I’ve just  _ fallen from the heavens _ .”

 

Despite his grumblings, Julian does actually manage to hoist Logan out of the deep hole. They’re both breathing hard by the time it’s over, both wincing as they stretch out sore muscles and frown down at blistered hands.

 

“Well, then,” Julian says, “I suppose I’ll be on my way. Good luck with your fiance, Logan.”

 

He spins around, walks a few steps, and hesitates. Logan can’t help but smirk.

 

“You don’t know where you’re going, do you?”

 

“Of course I do. I’m going...this way.”

 

Julian veers abruptly to the right, and Logan watches as he marches on through the trees. He pauses again, and his shoulders visibly droop before he turns back.

 

“Do you know where I might find a way home?”

 

“Home? Like…” Logan looks skyward, “I’m not sure it’s possible.”

 

“Of course it’s possible. I just need...well, a sorcerer, I suppose? A witch?”

 

“We don’t have any of those back home.”

 

“Well where  _ would _ they be?”

 

Logan shrugs, “Well they’re not real, are they? They’re just fairytales. Children’s stories.”

 

“And what of stars, then? What of me? Am  _ I _ a fairytale?”

 

Julian looks smug at Logan’s silence.

 

“There’s quite a lot of your own world you don’t understand, Logan. Now, let’s see…”

 

Logan watches, confused, as Julian spins in a slow circle. His head is turned skyward, his lips curved into a slight frown as he ponders the stars above. He raises a hand, traces one finger down and points into the thicket of trees.

 

“This way,” he says with finality, “I’m fairly sure -- this way.”

 

“But that’s the opposite direction of town. There’s nothing out that way.”

 

“Well have you ever  _ tried _ ?”

 

“...no, I haven’t. Nobody has.”

 

“If nobody’s ever gone, then, how do you know there’s nothing that way?”

 

“Do you enjoy being contrary?”

 

“It’s one of my most endearing traits, I’ve been told,” Julian says with a pleased smile. He strides past Logan, in the direction he’d determined. 

 

Logan remains where he is, for a moment. He glances through the way he’d came, to the barely-perceptible path between the trees. Julian’s still strolling on his own way, his footsteps growing further and further away.

 

It  _ would _ be a shame, to travel all this way for nothing. Perhaps once Julian understands there’s no way for him to return to the skies, he might agree to follow Logan back home.

 

He hurries through the forest, moving at a jog until he catches up with the star.

 

“Too frightened to journey alone, are we?” Julian says, looking sideways at Logan.

 

“Too chivalrous to let  _ you _ ,” Logan clarifies, “There’s all sorts of vicious beasts in these woods, after all.”

 

No sooner has Logan finished his statement that a faint rustling catches their attention. Logan’s hand jerks out, grips onto Julian’s arm to halt his movements. Julian starts in surprise, but halts beside him, those sharp eyes searching the trees.

 

“You’ve cursed us,” he hisses lowly, “If I’ve fallen all the way to earth only to meet a dragon…”

 

“There’s no such things as dragons.”

 

The rustling grows louder, nearer. Logan steps closer to Julian, bravely putting his own body between Julian and the threat. He curses himself for not bringing his sword with him, pulls out the small dagger he’d hooked to his belt for the purpose of slicing bread.

 

There’s a low growl, a high-pitched screech, and the creature leaps out from behind the trees.

 

“Oh my,” Julian drawls, “How lucky, to have your protection from a  _ kitten _ .”

 

It’s hardly the size of Logan’s hand, a tiny thing with stubs for legs and a small pink nose. Its head tilts sideways, examining the pair in front of them. With a flick of its tail, the cat sweeps aside, takes a few strides down the path, and glances back at them.

 

“It wants us to follow,” Julian says, “This way.”

 

“It’s a  _ cat _ . It doesn’t  _ want _ anything.”

 

“Everyone and everything wants something. And  _ this _ thing wants us to follow.”

 

Julian moves forward. Logan, with his hand still around Julian’s wrist, stumbles after him. The kitten seems pleased by this development and quickens the pace.

 

For what feels like hours, they walk. Julian, traipsing determinedly after the kitten, and Logan, reluctantly following. They seem to be getting nowhere, with nothing but trees as far as the eye can see. 

 

But then, a flickering light in the distance.

 

A fire, perhaps?

 

The kitten walks straight through the trees, breaks into a run at the edge of a slow-winding pathway. 

 

“It’s an  _ inn _ ,” Logan says, incredulous, “How is there an inn all the way out here?”

 

“Are you complaining? I told you the cat wanted us to follow.”

 

Julian hurries down the path himself, the trailing fabric of his shimmering tunic seemingly floating behind him as he goes. The door opens as he nears, a tall man illuminated by the light from within.

 

“Travelers at his hour?” He calls out, “Are you lost?”

 

“No,” Logan says, just as Julian answers in the affirmative. 

 

“Well, either way,” the man stoops, picks up the kitten in one hand and smiles in welcoming, “There’s no use traveling further at this hour. Please, come in. I’m sure I can spare a small bit of stew for you both.”

 

He steps aside, letting them both pass. Julian heads inside eagerly, but Logan pauses at the doorway, eyes their new host.

 

“I don’t bite,” the man says with a slight grin, “This is my house, after all.  _ You _ came  _ here _ .”

 

“I wasn’t aware anyone lived so far out here.”

 

“Well I do. As do many others. Perhaps you should open your eyes more often.”

 

He tilts his head, an inviting gesture.

 

Logan steps inside.

 

The man, they find out soon enough, is named Clark. The kitten is his -- “though he does seem to like you more, Julian” -- as well as the inn, a business left to him by his mother. He tells them of the village, not too far away, one Logan’s never heard of.

 

“And would this village have a sorcerer?” Julian asks, leaning forward, “A witch, perhaps?”

 

Clark looks troubled, “Magic? Are you sure that’s something you want to toy with?”

 

“Well I need to. I don’t know any other way to return home.”

 

“And where is  _ home _ , exactly?”

 

“Far from here,” Julian says, smirking, “Quite far.”

 

“Is that right?” Clark looks intrigued, his blue eyes fixed on Julian’s face. He leans forward as well, his hands brushing against Julian’s, “And you mean to return quickly, then?”

 

“Unless I find something to distract me here, I suppose.”

 

There’s a certain lilt to Julian’s words, a mischievous lift of one eyebrow. Clark barks out a sharp laugh, leans back in his seat with an almost delighted smile.

 

“Well, perhaps I can help. I’m no sorcerer, but I’ll do my best.”

 

“I’m afraid even your best can’t help me to the skies.”

 

The smile fades from Clark’s face abruptly. His face drains of color, his eyes widening as he stares at Julian.

 

“You’re -- you’re not,” he pauses, his brow furrowing, “You don’t mean to say that you’re a  _ star _ ?”

 

“Well I know I’m a little worse for wear, but there’s no need to sound  _ so _ surprised.”

 

Clark’s chair shrieks against the wooden floor as he pushes backwards, as he leaps to his feet.

 

“You need to leave,” he demands, “Both of you, you need to get away from here  _ now _ .”

 

Logan frowns over at Julian, who looks just as confused as he feels.

 

“ _ Now _ ,” Clark repeats, urgently, “It’s not safe here, you don’t understand…”

 

“What do you mean, not safe?”

 

“He’s been looking for one for ages. For a star. He has eyes and ears everywhere. He must know you’re here. You need to  _ leave _ .”

 

He moves frantically about the place, wrestles open a large chest and digs through a stack of heavy fabrics. He throws something Julian’s way -- a thick cloak of a dull brown color, with a heavy hood to match.

 

“Put that on. Keep your head down. Don’t tell  _ anyone _ what you are, do you understand?”

 

“No, I don’t,” Julian says, “ _ Who  _ knows I’m here? What does he want?”

 

“And you,” Clark ignores Julian’s questions, turns to look, wide-eyed, at Logan, “You need to keep him safe. If he’s found -- “

 

“What? What happens if he’s found?”

 

Clark presses his lips together, “Nothing good. Get him far away from here. As fast as you can. I have a horse you can take, a sword, if I can find it…”

 

He trails off, continues his wild rifling through his belongings and thrusts a heavy scabbard into Logan’s arms. With that, he pushes them both to the door, urges them outside.

 

Above, heavy storm clouds are rolling in. It had been so clear when they’d begun their journey, nothing but shimmering stars in the heavens. Now, it’s pitch-black, the angry rumbling of an oncoming tempest shaking the trees.

 

Julian frowns as the door slams shut behind them, “Well. That was quite rude.”

 

“Rude? That was insane. Absolutely  _ mad _ .”

 

“I suppose I am grateful for this,” Julian says, pulling the cloak over his shoulders, “It wasn’t this cold, before.”

 

“I do wish he’d waited to kick us out until  _ after _ the storm. Come on, maybe we can outride it.”

 

Clark’s horse is obediently still when Logan approaches. He holds out a hand for Julian, meaning to help him up. But the man hoists himself up expertly, centering himself in the saddle. Logan grumbles as he follows, sliding behind Julian.

 

“Don’t complain, I wouldn’t be able to see past your oversized head if I was behind. Now hold on.”

 

Logan tentatively places one hand on Julian’s hip, and the man makes a displeased noise.

 

“I said  _ hold on _ ,” he repeats. He snatches Logan’s hand, winds it around his own waist, “I won’t turn back if you fall off.”

 

They move, faster than expected, the horse beneath them running without any direction. Logan’s arms tighten around Julian’s waist, his chest pressed firmly to Julian’s back. Thunder booms overhead, flashes of lightning illuminating the rugged terrain. For some time, the storm is torrential, the rain beating down merciless. 

 

As they traverse the hills and valleys, however, the storm lessens. The rain is little more than a light mist, the thunder a distant rumble. The horse slows nearly to a stop, trots along until the ground grows uneven.

 

“Do you smell that?” Logan asks, trying in vain to peer through the darkness, “That’s the sea.”

 

“The sea,” Julian repeats, his voice a soft breath, “I always thought...it looked so beautiful from above.”

 

They slide to the ground, their boots landing in the unmistakable feel of soft sand beneath. Julian looks nearly awestruck, as he steps onto the beach, his palms turning upward to catch the droplets in his palm.

 

“Is this what it’s always like? The rain?”

 

“I suppose, yes. I tend to stay indoors during a storm.”

 

“Why would you?” Julian asks, tilting his chin to the sky, “It’s  _ lovely _ .”

 

He spins in a slow circle, a soft smile gracing his face as his eyes flutter shut. As Logan watches, Julian almost seems to glow, to  _ shine _ . A soft golden light shimmers on his skin, and he lets out a joyful laugh as his boots splash in the rising tide.

 

There’s an odd sort of bubble rising in Logan’s chest, and he can’t help but smile, as if Julian’s laughter is contagious.

 

“Come here,” Julian’s eyes flutter open, one hand extending Logan’s way, “Spin, like this, see?”

 

He leads Logan in a slow twirl, dragging him into the shallow waters. They’re both soaked through, Julian’s borrowed cloak now useless. Somehow, Logan can’t be bothered to care. He grins as the rain hits his skin, as Julian’s boot kicks seawater his way.

 

When the rain subsides, Julian looks almost disappointed. He stares at the emptying sky, the light emanating from within fading with the rain.

 

“We didn’t want to interrupt,” a voice calls out, not too far away.

 

“But it seems you two may be in need of our help.”

 

Logan drags Julian behind him, places one hand on the pommel of the sword Clark had pushed into his hands earlier in the night. Before them, several paces away, stand two identical men. They’re of Logan’s height, with similar builds, their heads tilted together as they observe the pair in front of them.

 

From behind him, Julian frowns, “Is  _ everyone _ in your world blonde?”

 

The two men seem amused.

 

“We’d heard you were here.”

 

“Word travels fast, you know.”

 

“Especially with a  _ star _ .”

 

“Which is a dangerous thing to be, around here.”

 

“Very dangerous.”

 

“But we can help, if you’d like.”

 

“For a little while, at least.”

 

They smile invitingly, their mirror expressions more than a little disorienting.

 

“And how, exactly,” Logan asks, one arm still blocking Julian from view, “Do you intend on helping him?”

 

“We have a ship.”

 

“He won’t be able to follow quickly, on the sea.”

 

“It’s a good head start.”

 

They each raise an arm, gesturing out to sea. Logan squints through the darkness, struggles to focus. Julian, it seems, doesn’t seem to have such a problem.

 

“You have a ship,” he repeats, “Well. I suppose that’s a better ride than an exhausted horse.”

 

It seems the twins hadn’t warned the crew about what to expect. Perhaps they hadn’t known that they’d find anyone. Logan and Julian -- though, Logan notes, likely mostly Julian -- earn more than a handful of stares as they board the vessel. 

 

“Well,” one of the twins says, brightly, “What are we waiting for?”

 

“You know what to do, boys.”

 

Each captain grabs Julian by an arm, ushering him below deck. They don’t invite Logan to follow, but he does anyway.

 

“Excuse me,” he says, loudly, “But who are you, exactly? And why should we trust you?”

 

“A question you should have asked  _ before _ boarding our ship, I’d imagine.”

 

“We don’t intend on hurting him, of course.”

 

“But he can’t go about in these wretched clothes, can he?”

 

The pair lead Julian to a velvet chair, sit him down before moving to a large oaken wardrobe.

 

“And it’s Ethan, by the way.”

 

“And Evan. Though we’ll respond to either.”

 

They rifle through silken shirts and jackets, peering at and discarding each item one by one. One of them -- the one who’d introduced himself as Evan -- picks up a dark green-and-gold outfit. He holds it up to the light, nods once, and hands it off to Logan.

 

Julian’s outfit takes them a little longer. They finally settle on a white shirt of soft silk, paired with deep red trousers and a white jacket embroidered with golden thread. 

 

They’re left alone to change, a degree of privacy Logan can’t help but appreciate.

 

“Odd pair, aren’t they?”

 

“I like them,” Julian says, tossing aside his soaked clothes, “They’re helpful.”

 

“We don’t even know what they all have us running from. What if  _ they’re _ what we should be avoiding?”

 

“Oh, I don’t think they are. They seem nice enough.”

 

“It’s strange though, isn’t it? That the innkeeper shoved us out in the storm, that they just happened to pick us up? What kind of ridiculous journey are they sending us on?”

 

“It’s better than the woods, isn’t it? Besides, I trusted Clark.”

 

“You  _ flirted _ with Clark.”

 

“Why, Logan, you almost sound jealous.”

 

“I’m not jealous.”

 

“That’s right,” Julian shrugs on his jacket, turns to Logan with an odd sort of smile, “Why would you be. There is the fiance, after all.”

 

“...he’s not my fiance.”

 

“But he will be, if you bring me to him. Isn’t that right?”

 

Julian stands before him, his eyes intently focused on Logan’s face. It’s almost a challenge, the way he’s staring.

 

“...I don’t know,” Logan admits, “Honestly, I’d almost forgotten that’s what I came for.”

 

“You’ve forgotten the one you love so quickly? Is that really what love is?”

 

Logan doesn’t know what to say. Julian just  _ stares _ , for a moment, then shakes his head, takes a step back.

 

“I suppose we should find our hosts now, don’t you?”

 

They receive a short tour of the ship, introductions to most of the crew. The twins warn them, of course, of the journey ahead. That it may take several days, depending on the weather, that they’ve food enough, beds enough.

 

_ Almost  _ enough.

 

There’s an odd, amused sort of smile on both faces when they’re shown to a single room.

 

“We do apologize for the lack of space, of course.”

 

“It is a  _ large _ bed, and you both look like you need rest.”

 

“You could always take shifts, if you’d like.”

 

Logan’s responding glare sends them both spinning from the room, their barely-hidden snickers echoing even as the door swings shut.

 

“I don’t intend on taking shifts,” Julian says, matter-of-factly, “I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely exhausted. And those pillows look divine.”

 

He flops down onto one side of the bed, kicks off his boots and lets out a happy sigh as he sinks down into the blankets. It’s not entirely proper, Logan knows, to share a bed with another. But the pillows  _ do _ look divine, and he’s so very tired.

 

They don’t wake for some time.

 

When Logan does start to rise, he feels pleasantly warmed, envelope in a sweet scent that makes his nose twitch. There’s a soft noise as he moves, a pressure against his chest. He opens his eyes.

 

Julian’s head is resting against him, one golden arm thrown around his waist. He’s shimmering again, that soft light emanating from his skin. 

 

He stirs, just a little, as Logan pulls away. But then he’s curling up on his side once more, his lips parting in contented sleep.

 

The twins look up as Logan steps above deck. It’s bright outside, perhaps sometime around midday.

 

“Well-rested, then?”

 

“It looked like you needed it.”

 

“I suppose I did,” Logan says, observing the pair cautiously, “I still don’t entirely understand what’s going on here, though. You wouldn’t mind explaining, would you?”

 

The twins share a glance.

 

“What is it that you don’t understand?”

 

“We’ll do our best to clear things up.”

 

“Fine, then,” Logan folds his arms over his chest, “Let’s start with the big one - why are you helping us?”

 

“Well that one’s easy, of course.”

 

“We wouldn’t want  _ him _ getting his hands on a star.”

 

“And as you’re clearly the star’s protector, we have to help you, too.”

 

“Though we would anyway. We like you.”

 

Logan frowns, “And who is  _ he _ , exactly? Everybody’s been very vague about that one.”

 

Identical grimaces spread across the twins’ faces.

 

“Well, the King, of course.”

 

“In title only. He stole the throne.”

 

“The Queen before was kind. Just. He’s a monster.”

 

“Who wants to rule eternally.”

 

“Which is why he seeks the star.”

 

“How will Julian help?” Logan asks, “Why would he matter?”

 

“Well, you know what they say, don’t you?”

 

“About stars?”

 

The twins tilt their heads together, their voices harmonizing together in sing-song, “ _ He who possesses the heart of a star will live eternal _ .”

 

It’s ominous, eerie, the words sending a chill down Logan’s spine.

 

“What does that even mean?” He asks, “He’s going to, what, cut out Julian’s heart?”

 

The twins shrug.

 

“Nobody can say for sure, really.”

 

“He’s one of the few sorcerers left.”

 

“Doesn’t like challenges to his power, of course.”

 

“The rest of them went into hiding when Adam took the throne.”

 

“Well if he’s so powerful, what’s the plan?” Logan presses, “Where are you taking us?”

 

“There’s a legend, not too far from here.”

 

“That the Queen fled this way when Adam struck her down.”

 

“That she has powers, too.”

 

“If anyone can get your star home, it’s her.”

 

“But you don’t know that for sure, do you?” Logan watches the twins exchange another look, “This is all just based on  _ hope _ .”

 

“Well what else do we have?”

 

“This is  _ ridiculous _ ! I didn’t even mean to -- this isn’t what I came for. This isn’t my world! I’m not his protector, I don’t believe in witches and sorcerers. I just want to go  _ home _ .”

 

“Well you can’t, of course. Not yet.”

 

“And you  _ are _ his protector, whether you want it or not.”

 

“Seems he’s chosen that for you.”

 

Their gaze shifts, two sets of eyes focusing somewhere past Logan’s shoulder. He turns, watches as Julian steps from the inner cabins onto the desk.

 

“We’ll just leave you two to it, shall we?”

 

“There’s food in the galley, if you’re hungry.”

 

With that, the twins slip away, their arms linked together as they head to the stern of the ship. Logan watches them go, frowning. He feels Julian step closer, the soft fabric of his new jacket brushing Logan’s arm.

 

“Did you ask where we’re going?”

 

“I did. Apparently there’s a witch they’ve heard rumors about. One who might be able to get you home.”

 

Julian smiles, “Well. That’s good, then.”

“If they’re correct. Nothing here makes any sense.”

 

“Doesn’t it?”

 

“My world isn’t anything like this.”

 

“This  _ is _ your world.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Logan says, “I’m not sure what happened when I crossed that wall. But my world doesn’t have human stars, or sorcerers, or witches, or cats with a mind of their own.”

 

“Well of course it does. You just haven’t looked hard enough. Besides, a world without magic sounds terribly dull.”

 

“It’s not, it’s…” Logan trails off, “It’s...it is, I suppose. Dull, sometimes.”

 

Julian just looks at him, expectantly, and Logan frowns.

 

“I’m not sure I realized, before all this. But I do the same thing, day after day. See the same people. Eat the same food. This has all been absolutely  _ mad _ , but...it’s been different. It’s been... _ fun _ .”

 

Julian grins, “I’ve had fun, too. And I’m not sure our adventure is quite over, yet.”

 

“Julian, there’s something else you should know. The twins, they said the man after you is a sorcerer. That he wants to grant himself eternal life. Through you.”

 

The smile fades from the man’s face, “He wants my heart.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well. I suppose we’ll just have to keep running, then. Let’s hope this witch knows what she’s doing.”

 

He squeezes Logan’s arm lightly, stepping past him in search of food. Logan feels oddly uneasy, suddenly, like he’s fallen into something much bigger than he anticipated.

 

And he’s not quite sure what to make of it.

 

He has time to consider it on the journey. The twins are never quite clear about how many days they’ll be at sea. Logan loses track of time. He wonders, once or twice, what’s happening back home. If Michelle is worried, if his father even noticed his absence. His concerns about stolen champagne and rejected proposals seem so far away, as if they took place in another life.

 

Julian, for his part, seems concerned with nothing. He laughs with the others, lets the twins pull him into dances, spends his days basking in warm sunshine and his nights tangled in silk sheets. He seems happy, despite the danger, seems to be enjoying himself amongst the odd company they’ve found themselves in.

 

Oftentimes, though, it’s Logan’s company that Julian seeks.

 

“Will you teach me?” He asks one day, standing beside Logan at the hull of the ship.   
  


“Teach you what?”

 

Julian says nothing, but he nods at Logan’s hip, his eyes tracing the shape of the sword strapped to his belt. 

 

“You want me to teach you to fight?”

 

“You know how, don’t you?”

 

“Well, yes. You really want to learn?”

 

“If I’m in danger, I should know how to defend myself, right? I can’t  _ just _ rely on you.”

 

It’s a smart choice, Logan admits. They procure a second weapon from another member of the crew soon enough, accrue a small audience around them as Logan takes Julian through the basics. Julian turns out to be a fast learner, concentrates as Logan takes him through basic moves and maneuvers. He’s quick, nimble on his feet and cunning enough to hold his own.

 

“Be careful, Logan,” one of the crewmembers calls, “Any more practice and he’ll be better than you.”

 

The comment makes Julian beam. He shines even brighter, the golden glow surrounding him shimmering in the sunlight. 

 

Logan lowers his sword, “That’s good practice for today, I think. We wouldn’t want to tire you out.”

 

“I think you’re just afraid of losing,” Julian says, laughing, “But if you insist.”

 

He hands his sword back to the man he’d borrowed it from, still grinning. The twins materialize on either side of Logan, each of them resting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“ _ He who possesses the heart of a star _ …”

 

Logan doesn’t fully understand what happens, after that. It’s like somethings shifted between him and Julian. The star barely leaves his side now, sits beside Logan at mealtimes and begs him to spar each afternoon. At night, he faces Logan, an unreadable look in his eyes before he finally closes his eyes in sleep. 

 

The twins watch them closely, sharing secret smiles, whispering those same words in Logan’s ear.

 

“ _ He who possesses the heart of a star _ …”

 

But he doesn’t have time, to figure it out. He wakes early one morning, the sunlight just barely peeking over the horizon. There’s a faint shape in the distance, the outline of hills and cliffs.

 

“Today,” one of the twins says solemnly.

 

“Not more than a few hours, now.”

 

He lets Julian rest, for now. He’s not quite sure what the afternoon will bring them, how quickly they’ll have to move once they’re on land. When Julian finally wakes, sometime around midday, the shore isn’t very far at all.

 

“So this is it, then?” Julian asks, staring, “This is where we’ll find her?”

 

“Close. But someone will be waiting, to lead you.”

 

“We’ve sent word ahead.”

 

“Who?” Logan demands, “Because we can’t keep trusting strangers, not when we don’t even know who it is we’re running from.”

 

“He’ll be waiting, don’t worry.”

 

“Adam hasn’t quite caught up, yet.”

 

It’s as infuriatingly cryptic as ever, and Logan wants to push. But Julian’s hand slips over his, his fingers squeezing slightly.

 

Logan drops the subject.

 

As they near land, he  _ can _ make out a faint figure standing on the shores. He’s still, unmoving, his face turned to the oncoming ship.

 

The twins wish them both luck as they disembark, whispering something in Julian’s ear that Logan can’t quite hear. He flushes, his cheeks turning a soft shade of rose beneath the golden glow. He turns away quickly, jostling against Logan’s side.

 

“Come on,” he murmurs, “I’m sure you’ve had quite enough of the sea.”

 

Logan hurries after him, wading through the knee-deep water. The figure on the shore shifts, finally, stepping forward until Logan can make out his features. He’s a little shorter than the pair of them, but broader, stockier. There’s a sword at his hip, another strapped across his back. He looks curious, as he examines Julian, his brown eyes narrowing just slightly.

 

“So,” he says, “You really are a star.”

 

Logan’s hand drifts protectively to Julian’s shoulder, “And you are?”

 

The man laughs, “Relax, I’m not  _ him _ . Name’s Derek. I’m meant to escort you. I have no desire to live an eternal life. Watching my family grow old and die hardly sounds like a blessing.”

 

“I’m Julian,” Julian offers, “This is Logan. Feel free to ignore him, he doesn’t like strangers. Or anyone, really.”

 

Derek grins, “So it would seem.”

 

He nods at the pair, his countenance growing suddenly solemn.

 

“We do have to hurry, though. Adam moves fast. We should move faster.”

 

With that, he turns, his black boots moving quickly across the white sand. Logan and Julian follow, Logan’s hand never leaving Julian’s arm. 

 

“It’s up here,” Derek says, as they approach the base of a tall cliff, “I do hope you two don’t easily tire. It’s a long walk.”

 

A long walk, they discover, had been putting it lightly. The path leading to the top is steep and rocky, some portions so difficult to climb they have to take a short break after. Derek shares his water with them, looks on worriedly as Julian’s shimmer fades. The sky above them begins to darken, and Derek’s features twist even more.

 

“We need to hurry,” he urges, “He’s coming.”

 

He quickens his pace, and Logan pushes Julian up ahead, urges him to follow. Finally, after what must be hours, they can just make out the turrets of a small palace.

 

“She’s in here,” Derek says, “Come on.”

 

He pulls Julian along at a run, finally reaches the plateau above. Julian’s panting for breath by the time they reach the castle, and Logan’s not much better off.

 

Derek, though, strides ahead, knocks solidly against the wooden doors three times.

 

They creak open immediately.

 

Derek steps inside, looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes in annoyance.

 

“ _ Hurry _ , would you? I told you he’s coming.”

 

Logan loops an arm around Julian’s waist, steadying him as they run inside. Derek closes the door firmly behind them, and Logan has to blink a few times until his eyes adjust to the dim light.

 

At first glance, the castle around them seems empty. The corners are littered with cobwebs, thick layers of dust covering every surface. But at the top of a wide staircase, a single candle flickers, held by a woman in a deep blue gown.

 

“Are you her?” Julian asks, moving forward, “Are you who we’re looking for?”

 

“Well, I’m not sure,” the woman responds, her voice soft, “Do you know what it is you’re looking for?”

 

“Are you her?” Logan demands, “The witch? The queen, the  _ whatever _ it is that can help him get home?”

 

“Oh. Then yes, I suppose I am.”

 

“Then I’d like to,” Julian says, “Get home.”

 

“Is that truly what you wish?”

 

“Of course it is.”

 

“Are you quite sure?”

 

“I...yes. Both of us. We just want to go home.”

 

The woman smiles, tilts her head to one side, “It’s how your journey began, of course. But is home where it ends?”

 

Logan lets out a frustrated growl, “If we could just find one  _ fucking _ person who isn’t infuriatingly cryptic, yes! Send him back to the skies, send  _ me _ back to my village, just let us go  _ home _ . We didn’t travel all this way for you to tell us you can’t.”

 

“Oh, I can. If it’s what you want.”

 

“It is.”

 

“Very well, then,” the woman descends the staircase slowly, the single candle still held in her hands, “The star first, if you please.”

 

Julian steps forward, and the woman slips one hand into her pocket, pulls out another candle. This one is smaller, thinner, black in color.

 

“Hold this, dear,” she says, pressing the candle into Julian’s hands.

 

“A Babylon candle?”

 

“That’s right. Is it safe to assume you know how to use it?”

 

“Hold tight,” Julian says, wrapping his fingers around the wax, “Light it. Think of home.”

 

“Do make sure it’s the  _ home _ you actually mean to return to.”

 

Julian nods. He stares down at the unlit candle, looks up at Logan. There’s uncertainty in his eyes.

 

“Are you ready?” The woman asks.

 

“I…”

 

The doors of the castle blow open. There’s a thunderous booming from outside, a sharp crack of lightning. The candle in the woman’s hand flickers out, and she’s thrown abruptly across the room, hitting the stone wall with a sickening crack.

 

“Adam,” Derek hisses, pulling his sword free, “You won’t get him. You can’t -- “

 

“Shut up,” a voice sneers. There’s another loud boom, and Derek goes flying, landing at the base of the stairs in a heap.

 

Logan stiffens, his hand going for the hilt of his own sword as a figure dressed all in black steps through the entryway. His narrowed eyes scan the hall, drift over Logan and finally alight on Julian. One side of his mouth curls upward.

 

“Ah,” he breathes, “Even more beautiful than I imagined.”

 

He moves forward, his cloak skimming the floor behind him. Logan stumbles to the side, finally pulls his sword free as he steps in front of Julian.

 

“You can’t have him,” he says, firmly, “Him, or his heart.”

 

Adam pauses just a moment, “Well. If he won’t give it to me, I suppose I’ll just have to take it.”

 

He lifts a hand, and Logan only barely registers Julian’s shout before he’s thrust forward, dragged by an unseen force across the floor. The sword clatters from his hand, and Adam’s fingers wrap around his throat.

 

“You’re  _ nothing _ ,” he spits, “You’ll never stop me. I will have my star.”

 

His fingers constrict, pressing firmly against Logan’s windpipe. It  _ burns _ , cuts off his breathing, and Logan gasps. He hears Julian make another noise behind him, sees Adam’s eyes shift away.

 

It’s just enough of a distraction.

 

His fist connects with Adam’s jaw, startling him enough to break his hold on Logan’s neck. Adam staggers to the side, one hand cupping the side of his face as Logan stumbles away. 

 

“Fool,” he snarls, “I might have let you escape with your life, before.”

 

“ _ Logan _ !”

 

There’s a crashing sound from overhead, and Logan only barely manages to duck out of the way before a heavy chandelier plummets to the ground. It forces him and Julian apart, separated by feet of shattered crystal. 

 

“You could’ve gone  _ home _ , Logan,” Adam taunts, “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? But no, you had to follow my star across the lands.  _ My _ star. Not yours.”

 

He raises a hand again, and Logan narrowly avoids being hit by the crumbling brick wall behind him.

 

“And you, Sylvia,” Adam continues, glancing at the barely-stirring woman, “I did tell you not to interfere, did I not? I let your dear husband live, and this is how you repay me?”

 

The woman makes a soft noise of displeasure, slowly raises her own hands into the air.

 

“Oh no, there’ll be none of that.”

 

A thin rope of silver erupts from Adam’s hands, shoots across the room and winds tightly around Sylvia’s wrists. She cries out, falls forward as the magic binds her in place. 

 

Satisfied, Adam turns once more to Julian.

 

“Now, for you,” his voice is sickly-sweet, his expression oddly soft as he stares at the man, “I had hoped you’d be shining a bit brighter, when I found you. But I suppose we’ll have to fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

 

“I won’t shine for you,” Julian says, his voice thick with venom, “I’m not  _ yours _ .”

 

“Oh, but you are, my darling. You will be.”

 

“I  _ won’t _ .”

 

Adam’s lips twitch, his eyebrows knitting together with displeasure.

 

“It’s  _ him _ , isn’t it? The mortal. He’s the reason?”

 

Julian says nothing, but Adam’s eyes seek out Logan’s once more. There’s nothing but hate there, when they find Logan’s face, and the thundering sound deepens. 

 

Adam raises both hands.

 

Julian screams.

 

And above, the roof of the palace collapses inward, burying Logan in heavy bricks and stones.

 

It’s a pain not like anything he’s ever felt. Every bone, every  _ cell  _ in his body screams in anguish. He collapses, buried under the weight of a thick layer of stonework, trapped beneath the ruins of the castle. 

 

It should kill him, instantly.

 

Somehow though, he can still hear Julian’s screams, hear Adam’s taunts. There’s movement above him, light hitting his eyes as someone frantically pulls stones away.

 

He hurts, so very badly. 

 

But then Julian’s face appears over him, his eyes shining with tears.

 

It’s like the pain vanishes, all at once. Julian lets out a sob, reaches forward.

 

Logan takes his hand.

 

Everything seems to go still, as Logan pushes himself up from the rubble. Derek, barely conscious, stares with wide eyes. Sylvia lets out a sharp gasp. Adam staggers backwards.

 

“No,” he says, “No, that’s not  _ possible _ .”

 

“ _ He who possesses the heart of a star _ …”

 

The words, in Derek’s voice, finally make sense. Logan turns to Julian, incredulous, takes in the tear-filled eyes and the soft look on his face.

 

“...Julian?”

 

“Derek,” Julian says instead, his eyes never leaving Logan’s, “Get her out of here. Now.”

 

There’s a scuffle, beside them, and Logan’s faintly aware of Derek’s voice, of the sounds of him and Sylvia hurrying through the doorway.

 

“Julian,” Logan repeats, bringing one hand to the man’s face, “What’s going on, I...but  _ you _ ...”

 

“Close your eyes, Logan.”

 

“But Julian...”

 

“Your eyes,” Julian repeats, softly, “Close them, please.”

 

Logan does, despite his misgivings, shuts them tight as Julian pulls his head downward.

 

“Do you know what stars do best, Logan?”

 

“No.”

 

Julian’s arms tighten around him, and his lips brush Logan’s ear as he speaks again.

 

“They  _ shine _ .”

 

Even through his closed eyelids, the light is too much. It’s blinding, a scorching white brightness that surrounds everything. There’s an awful scream, the loud rumblings and crashing of the building collapsing around them.

 

And then, silence. Logan’s face is still pressed firmly to Julian’s shoulder, his hands still tight around Julian’s waist. Julian’s own hands slip down, rest lightly on Logan’s chest.

 

“You can open your eyes now,” he says.

 

The palace is gone. They’re standing in the midst of ruins, of broken stones and dust. Adam’s black cloak lies on the ground nearby, empty.

 

“What did you do?”

 

“What stars do best.”

 

“But I’ve never...you’ve never shone that brightly before.”

 

Julian pulls back, “Yes. Well. You’ve never survived certain death, before.”

 

“How did I?”

 

“I think you know, Logan.”

 

“But we only just met.”

 

“Well,” Julian lowers his eyes, a sad sort of smile playing at his lips, “I suppose when you know, you know.”

 

He clears his throat, pulls his hands away from Logan and glances away. Derek and Sylvia aren’t far off, staring in shock at the destroyed building, at the two standing perfectly unharmed amongst the ruin.

 

Logan stares, his eyes not leaving Julian’s face until something taps lightly against one boot. He looks down, almost  _ laughs _ at the sight of a thin black candle.

 

“One thing survived,” he says, stooping down to pick it up, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to use this, then. To get home.”

 

Julian stares at it, “...no. I’m not sure that’s what home is to me, anymore.”

 

He places his hand on Logan’s, pressing down until Logan’s fingers tighten around the candle.

 

“You should use it,” he offers instead, “To get back to that fiance of yours.”

 

“...I don’t think I want to. I’m not sure that’s my home anymore, either.”

 

Julian’s breath hitches. His eyes swim with emotion, his hands trembling as Logan pulls him close.

 

“You wanted to marry someone else when we met,” he reminds him, “I was meant to be a gift, remember?”

 

“No,” Logan says, “I don’t remember.”

 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to Julian. Julian molds into his hold so beautifully, winds his own arms around Logan’s neck and sighs into the kiss. They pull apart far too soon, Julian’s skin shining impossibly bright once more. He lets out a soft, happy noise, one Logan can’t help but mimic.

 

“What do we do now?” Julian asks, “Neither of us belong here. I don’t exist in your world.”

 

Sylvia interrupts, with a delicate clearing of her throat, “Pardon me, but if I may make a suggestion?”

 

Both men turn, almost having forgotten their companions.

 

“You don’t exist in his world,” she agrees, “And as such, you can’t travel to his world.”

 

“What does that mean? He can’t return with me?”

 

“He can’t. And you can’t stay here for much longer. The worlds need balance, and you’ve tipped it off-scale.”

 

“So what,” Logan feels ill suddenly, tightens his grip on Julian’s waist, “We can’t be together? Because the  _ universe _ says so?”

 

“The universe says there must be balance. I’m offering balance.”

 

“How?”

 

“A life for a life,” Sylvia says, smiling, “You, Logan, remain here. I cross the wall.”

 

“Why would you do that?” Julian asks, confused, “If this is your home, why would you leave?”

 

“I was in love, before. Some time ago.”

 

The words jog a memory in Logan’s mind, “Sylvia. You’re  _ Sylvia _ .”

 

She smiles, “I am.”

 

“Gregory. He...he asked me to tell you he loves you, still.”

 

“Then he waits, after all these years?”

 

“He guards the wall,” Logan tells her, as her eyes fill with tears, “He’s the one who let me through.”

 

Sylvia brings a hand to her mouth, looking so many years younger as she smiles tearfully.

 

“We were separated, so long ago. I’d like to see him again, if you accept my deal.”

 

“We both stay here?” Logan asks, “Me and Julian?”

 

“Together. Eternally. For you, Logan Wright, possess the heart of a star.”

 

A hand slips into Logan’s, Julian’s fingers warm in his grasp. It seems so  _ easy _ , so impossibly simple after this wild adventure, that he can hardly believe it.

 

But, he supposes after all this, they deserve something easy.

 

“Will they be our new Kings, then?” Derek asks, lifting one eyebrow, “If you’re leaving, and Adam’s dead...these two are our new Kings?”

 

“I suppose they would be. I have faith they’ll be fair.”

 

Derek examines them for a moment, “Well, don’t expect me to bow to either of you.”

 

Julian laughs at that, a bright, happy sound that makes the air around him sparkle silver and gold. Logan’s laughter isn’t far behind, and he leans into Julian, their foreheads brushing together as they giggle.

 

It’s not at all the life Logan expected for himself.

 

But somehow, it’s so much better.

 

“ _ And they live together still, mama? The King and the Star?” _

 

_ “I suppose they do, my love.” _

 

_ “Forever and ever?” _

 

_ “For as long as they wish, my dear. I imagine when they’re quite tired, they’ll return to the heavens, where the Star came from.” _

 

_ “And they’re happy?” _

 

_ “The happiest, my love.” _

 

_ “Mama?” _

 

_ “Yes, dear?” _

 

_ “Do you miss it? Being Queen?” _

 

_ “No, dear. Being your mother means more than any crown ever could.” _

 

_ “And you and Father, you’ll live happily ever after too?” _

 

_ “Yes, my dear. All three of us. Happily ever after.” _


End file.
